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MARM I O N 



.) 



M A R M I O N 



'> 7 




BY 



SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 



iUiistrateH 




2:0../.^^ 



f^'ti 



ZJ^ 



BOSTON 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AXL) COMPANY 

1885 



T^'; 



Co}njri(]ltt, 1SS4. 
By Jamks K Osgood and CoMrAxv. 



All rig/its reserved. 




The Right Honorable 
HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE, 

&c., &c., &c., 
STfjis Romance is InscrtbetJ 

BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



o 



Jtist of Bhistrations. 

[Drawn and Eugruvud under the Supervision of A. V. S. Anthony.] 

" Along the bridge Lord Marmiou rode, 

Proudly his red-roau charger trode " Frontispiece 

Vignette — A Loophole 16 

Half Title 17 

Headpiece to Introduction 21 

Tailpiece to Introduction 32 

" Day set on Durham's castled steep, 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, 

And Cheviot's mountains lone " .,....,....- 33 

BoswoRTH Field 36 

" Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck, 
With silver scutcheon round their neck. 

Stood on the steps of stone " 39 

" A mighty wassell-bowl he took. 

And crowned it high with wine. 
* Now pledge me here, Lord jMarmion ; 

But first I pray thee fair ' " 43 



10 ILLUSTRATIONS. 

" * Then did I march with Surrey's power, 

What time we razed old Ayton tower '" 46 

Ox THE River Tweed 48 

" But strode across the hall of state, 
And fronted Marmion where he sate 
As he his peer had heen " 53 

Tailpiece 57 

Ornament 58 

Headpiece to Introduction 61 

Tailpiece to Introduction 70 

" "Where, from high "Whitby's cloistered pile " 71 

" She sate upon the galley's prow, 

And seemed to mark the waves below " 75 

" And reached the Holy Island's bay " 78 

" Then, answering from the sandy shore, 

Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar " . 80 

LlNDISFARNE AbBEY 82 

" There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 

His relics are in secret laid " 84 

" And there she stood so calm and pale. 

That, but her breathing did not fail, 

You might have thought a form of wax, 

Wrought to the very life, was there ; 

So still she was, so pale, so fair " 87 

" Like that left on the Cheviot peak, 

By Autumn's stormy sky " 93 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 11 

Tailpiece 98 

Headpiece to Introduction ..101 

Tailpiece to Introduction 109 

Ornament 110 

*' The village inn seemed large, though rude " Ill 

" By glen and streamlet winded still, 

"Where stunted birches hid the rill " 112 

" And viewed around the blazing hearth 

His followers mix in noisy mirth " 114 

" On Lowland plains " 117 

Loch Vennachar 123 

" Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 

King Alexander fills his grave " ......129 

" In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, 

Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; % 

But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 

His master Marmion's voice he knew " 131 

Tailpiece 136 

Headpiece to Introduction 141 

Tailpiece to Introduction 146 

The Camp 148 

*' The green-sward way was smooth and good, 

Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood " 150 



1 2 ILL USTllA TJONS. 

"Down from Jiis liorse did ^laiiniou spring, 

Soon as he saw tlie Lion-King, 

For well tlie stately Baron knew 

To him such courtesy was due " 153 

" At length up tliat wild dale they wind, 

Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the hank " 150 

" Linlithgow's holy dome " 161 

" Full on his face the moonbeam strook ! — - 

A face could never be mistook ! 

I knew the stern vindictive look " 1G3 

" Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 

Among the broom, and thorn, and wliin, 
A truant-boy, I sought the nest " 169 

" Where the huge Castle liolds its state, 

And all the steep slope down, 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky. 

Piled deep and massy, close and high " 1 73 

Tailpiece 176 

i Headpiece to Ixtroduction 179 

Ornament 186 

Dun Edin 187 

" Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race, 

Of different language, form, and face " 191 

" Old IIoly-Eood rung merrily, 

That night, with wassell, mirth, and glee " 194 

" The monarch o'er the siren hung, 

And beat the measure as she sung, 

And, pressing closer, and more near. 

He whispered praises in her ear " 199 



ILL U&TRA TIONS. 13 

" Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, 

And Bothwell hank is blooming fair " 203 

" On Derby Hills the paths are steep ; 

In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep " 206 

" The antique buildings, climbing high, 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky 
Were here wrapt deep in shade " 209 

"At night, in secret, there they came, 

The Palmer and the holy dame. 

The moon among the clouds rode high, 

And all the city hum was by " 211 

" And now, Avhen close at hand they saw 

North Berwick's town, and lofty Law " 219 

" Then took the squire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed, 
And, by each courteous word and deed, 

To cheer her strove in vain "... 224 

Tailpiece 227 

Ornament 228 

Headpiece to Introduction 231 

Tailpiece to Introduction 239 

Ornament 240 

" Tantallon's dizzy steep 

Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 

Many a rude tower and rampart there 

Repelled the insult of the air " 241 

" Once walking thus, at evening tide, 

It chanced a gliding sail she spied " 245 



14 ILL USTRA TIONS. 

" She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 

Wilton himself before her stood ! " 247 

" The rest were all in Twisel glen " 253 

" two gi'ay priests were there, 

And each a blazing torch held high '' 255 

" ' Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! ' — 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ercame the ashen hue of age " 259 

" The steed along the drawbridge flies, 

Just as it trembled on the rise " 262 

" The Till by Twisel Bridge " . . , 265 

" ' Here, by this Cross,' he gently said, 

' You well may view the scene ' " , 269 

Floddex Field 275 

"A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

And fired his glazing eye : 
With dying hand, above his head. 
He shook the fragment of his blade, 

And shouted ' Victory !' — " 281 

" There erst was martial Marmiou found, 
His feet upon a couchant hound, 

His hands to Heaven upraised ; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich. 
And tablet carved, and fretted niche, 

His arms and feats were blazed "... 285 

Tailpiece 287 







^'^^ 



Sl)c praroings arc bg 

(x. Perkixs. a. Fredericks. H. Fenn. 

F. B. ScHELL. J. J. Harley. a. E. Waud. 

E. H. Garrett. A. B. Shute. F. T. Merrill. 



G. T. Andrew. 
A. Y. S. Anthony, 



^\)t d^ngraningjJ are bg 

W. E. Tenney. 
G. E. Johnson. 



G. K. Atwood. 
Russell & PvICHardson. 



(iri)c ©rnamcntal |iorticrsi anil pcjstgns arc bn 
L. S. Ipsen. 




CANTO FIRST 




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No longer autumn's glowing red 
Upon our Forest hills is shed ; 
Js o more, beneath the evening beam, 
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam. 
Away hath passed the heather-bell 
That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell ; 
Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
Are now the sister-heights of Yare. 
The sheep, before the pinching heaven. 
To sheltered dale and down are driven. 
Where yet some faded herbage pines, 
And yet a watery sunbeam shines : 
In meek despondency they eye 
The withered sward and wintry sky, 
And far beneath their summer hill, 
Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill : 
The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold, 
And wraps him closer from the cold ; 
His dogs no merry circles wheel. 
But, shivering, follow at his heel ; 
A cowering glance they often cast, 
As deeper moans the gathering blast. 

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild 
As best befits the mountain child, 
Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
And wail the daisy's vanished flower ; 
Their summer gambols tell, and mourn, 
And anxious ask, — Will spring return. 
And birds and lambs again be gay, 
And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? 









Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
Again shall paint your summer bower ; 
Again the hawthorn shall supply 
The garlands you delight to tie ; 
The lambs ujion the lea shall bound, 
The wild birds carol to the round, 
And while you frolic light as they, 
Too short shall seem the summer day. 

To mute and to material things 
New life revolving summer brings ; 
The genial call dead Nature hears, 
And in her glory reappears. 
But oh ! my Country's wintry state 
What second spring shall renovate 1 
What powerful call shall bid arise 
The buried warlike and the wise ; 
The mind that thought for Britain's weal, 
The hand that grasped the victor steel ? 
The vernal sun new life bestows 
Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
But vainly, vainly may he shine, 
Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine ; 
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, 
That shrouds, Pitt, thy hallowed tomb 

Deep graved in every British heart. 
Oh, never let those names depart ! 
Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, 
Who victor died on Gadite wave ; 
To him, as to the burning levin, 






24 



INTRODUCTION TO 




Short, bright, resistless course was given. 
Where'er his country's foes were found, 
Was heard the fated thunder's sound, 
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
Rolled, blazed, destroyed, — and was no more. 

Nor mourn ye less his perished worth. 
Who bade the conqueror go forth, 
And launched that thunderbolt of war 
On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafalgar ; 
Who, born to guide such high emprise, 
For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, 
For Britain's sins, an early grave ! 
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
A bauble held the pride of power. 
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf. 
And served his Albion for herself; 
Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
Strained at subjection's bursting rein, 
O'er their wild mood full conquest gained, 
The pride, he would not crush, restrained, 
Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, 
And brought the freeman's arm to aid the 
freeman's laws. 

Hadst thou but lived, though stripped of 
power, 
A watchman on the lonely tower. 
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, 
When fraud or danser were at hand ; 



^K-T^ 







CANTO FIRST. 



25 



By thee, as by the beacon-light, 

Our pilots had kept course aright ; 

As some proud column, though alone, 

Thy strength had propped the tottering throne. 

Xow^ is the stately column broke. 

The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, 

The trumpet's silver sound is still, 

Tlie warder silent on the hill ! 

Oh, think, how to his latest day, 
When Death, just hovering, claimed his j)rey, 
With Palinure's unaltered mood. 
Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; 
Each call for needful rest repelled. 
With dying hand the rudder held, 
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway, 
The steerage of the realm gave way ! 
Then, while on Britain's thousand plains. 
One unpolluted church remains. 
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
But still, upon the hallowed day. 
Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
While faith and civil peace are dear, 
Grace this cold marble with a tear, — 
He, who preserved them, Pitt, lies here. 

Nor yet suppress the generous sigh. 
Because his rival slumbers nigh ; 
Nor be thy requiescat dumb. 
Lest it lie said o'er Fox's tomb ; 






For talents mourn, untimely lost, 
When best employed, and wanted most ; 
Mourn genius iiigh, and lore profound, 
And wit that loved to play, not wound ; 
And all the reasoning powers divine, 
To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow. 
They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
From error him who owns this grave, 
Be every harsher thought suppressed, 
And sacred be the last long rest. 
Here, where the end of earthly things 
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongui-, 
Of those who fought, and spoke, and sun,!^ ; 
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
The distant notes of holy song, 
As if some angel spoke agen, 
" All peace on earth, good-will to men ; " 
If ever from an English heart. 
Oh, here let prejudice depart. 
And, partial I'eeKng cast aside, 
Record, that Fox a Briton died ! 
AVhen Europe crouched to France's yoke. 
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, 
And the firm Russian's purpose brave, 
Was bartered by a timorous slave. 
Even then dishonor's peace he spurned, 
The sullied olive-branch returned, 
Rtood for his country's glory fast, 



->/pr^ 




cmh^y^^o ^^<^ 




-^ 



And nailed her colors to the mast ! 
Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave 
A portion in this honored grave, 
And ne'er held marble in its trust 
Of two such wondrous men the dust. 



>- 



With more than mortal powers endowed, 
How high they soared above the crowd ! 
Theirs was no common party race, 
Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
Like faliled Gods, their mighty war 
Shook realms and nations in its jar ; 
Beneath each Ijanner proud to stand, 
Looked up the noblest of the land. 
Till through the British world were known 
The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
Spells of such force no wizard grave 
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, 
Though his could drain the ocean dry, 
And force the planets from the sky. 
These spells are spent, and, spent with these, 
The wine of life is on the lees, 
Genius and taste, and talent gone, 
Forever tombed beneath the stone, 
Where — taming thought to human pride ! — 
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
'T will trickle to his rival's bier ; 
O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 
And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
The solemn echo seems to crv, — 





" Here let their discord with them die. 
Speak not for those a separate doom, 
Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
But search the land of living men, 
Where wilt thou find their like agen ? " 

Rest, ardent Spirits ! till the cries 
Of dying nature bid you rise ; 
Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 
The leaden silence of your hearse ; 
Then, oh, how impotent and vain 
This grateful tributary strain ! 
Though not unmarked from northern clime, 
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : 
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung ; 
The Bard you deigned to praise, your deathles 
names has sung. 

Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, 
My wildered fancy still beguile ! 
From this high theme how can I part, 
Eie half unloaded is my heart ! 
For cdl the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
And .dl the raptures fancy knew. 
And all the keener rush of blood. 
That throbs through bard in bard- like mood. 
Were here a tribute mean and low. 
Though all their mingled streams could flow- 
Woe, wonder, and sensation high, 
In one spring-tide of ecstasy ! — 
It ^\ ill not be — it may not last — 



^^M 




CANTO FIRST. 



■^ 



y^ 



Ai 



The vision of enchantment 's past : 
Like frostwork in the morning ray, 
The fancy fabric melts away ; 
Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, 
And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone ; 
And, lingering last, deception dear, 
The choir's high sonnds die on my ear. 
Now slow return the lonely down. 
The silent pastures bleak and brown. 
The farm begirt with copsewood wild, 
The gambols of each frolic child. 
Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 

Prompt on unequal tasks to run. 
Thus Nature disciplines her son : 
Meeter, she says, for me to stray. 
And waste the solitary day. 
In plucking from yon fen the reed, 
And watch it floating down the Tweed ; 
Or idly list the shrilling lay. 
With which the milkmaid cheers her way, 
Marking its cadence rise and fail. 
As from the field, beneath her pail. 
She trips it down the uneven dale : 
Meeter for me, by yonder cairn. 
The ancient shepherd's tale to learn ; 
Though oft he stop in rustic fear, 
Lest his old legends tire the ear 
Of one, who, in his simple mind, 
May boast of book-learned taste refined. 



m 







i- ■■ 



■/W; 



^,»< 



But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell — 
For few have read romance so well — 
How still the legendary lay 
O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 
How on the ancient minstrel strain 
Time lays his palsied hand in vain ; 
And how our hearts at doughty deeds, 
By warriors wrought in steely weeds. 
Still throb for fear and pity's sake ; 
As when the Champion of the Lake 
Enters Morgana's lated house, 
Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
Despising spells and demons' force. 
Holds converse with the unburied corse ; 
Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to move — 
Alas, that lawless was their love ! — 
He sought proud Tarquin in his den. 
And freed full sixty knights ; or when, 
A sinful man, and unconfessed, 
He took the SangreaFs holy quest, 
And slumbering saw the vision high, 
He might not view with waking eye. 

The miglitiest chiefs of British song 
Scorned not such legends to prolong : 
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream 
And mix in Milton's heavenly theme ; 
And Dryden, in immortal strain, 
Had raised the Table Round again, 
But that a ribald King and Court 
Bade him toil on, to make them s])ort ; 



-h:^-- 





^JZ. 



CANTO FIRST. 



'^ 



/^l^ 

iA 



s 



31 



Demanded for their niggard pay, 
Fit for their souls, a looser lay. 
Licentious satire, song, and play; 
The world defrauded of the high design. 
Profaned the God-given strength, and marred 
the lofty line. 

Warmed by such names, well may we then. 
Though dwindled sons of little men. 
Essay to break a feeble lance 
In the fair fields of old romance ; 
Or seek the moated castle's cell, 
Where long through talisman and spell, 
While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 
Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : 
There sound the harpings of the North, 
Till he awake and sally forth, 
On venturous quest to prick again, 
In all his arms, with all his train, 
Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf, 
Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
And wizard with his Avand of might. 
And errant maid on palfrey white. 
Around the Genius weave their spells. 
Pure Love, Avho scarce his passion tells ; 
Mystery, half veiled and half revealed ; 
And Honor, with his spotless .shield ; 
Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear, 
That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 
And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 
Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death ; 



'^1 



^;-^^-i%^^^ 




THE CASTLE. 



Day set on Norliam's castled steep. 
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, 

And Clieviot's monntains lone : 
Tlie battled towers, the donjon keep, 
The loophole grates, where captives weep, 
The flanking walls that ronnd it sweep, 

In yellow lustre shone. 
The warriors on the turrets high, 
Moving athwart the evening sky, 

Seemed forms of giant height : 
Their armor, as it cauglit the rays, 



34 MAEMIOX. canto i. 

Flashed back again the western blaze, 
In lines of dazzling light. 



Saint George's banner, l)road and gay, 
Now faded, as the fading ray 

Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
The evening gale had scarce the power 
To wave it on the Donjon Tower, 

So heavily it hung. 
Tlie scouts had parted on their search, 

The Castle gate& were barred ; 
Above the gloomy portal arch, 
Timing his footsteps to a march, 

The Warder kept his guard ; 
Low humming, as he paced along, 
Some ancient Border u-athering song. 



A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
He looks abroad, and soon appears. 
O'er Horncliff-liill, a plump of spears 

Beneath a pennon gay ; 
A horseman, darting from the crowd, 
Like lightning from a summer cloud, 
Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 

Before the dark array. 
Beneath the sable palisade. 
That closed the Castle barricade, 

His buglehorn he blew; 
The warder hasted from the wall. 
And warned the Captain in the hall, 

For well the blast he knew; 
And joyfully that knight did call 
To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 



CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 35 



IV. 

" Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 

Bring pasties of the doe, 
And quickly make the entrance free, 
And bid my heralds ready be, 
And every minstrel sound his glee, 

And all our trumpets blow ; 
And, from the platform, spare ye not 
To fire a noble salvo-shot ; 

Lord Marmion waits below ! " 
Then to the Castle's lower ward 

Sped forty yeomen tall, 
The iron-studded gates unbarred, 
Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, 
The lofty palisade unsparred, 

And let the drawbrido-e fall. 



V. 

Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode, 
Proudly his red-roan charger trode. 
His helm hung at the saddle bow ; 
Well by his visage you might know 
He was a stalworth knight and keen, 
And had in many a battle been ; 
The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
A token true of Bos worth field ; 
His eyebrow dark and eye of fire 
Showed spirit proud and prompt to ire, 
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek 
Did deep design and counsel speak. 
His forehead, by his casque worn bare. 
His thick moustache and curly hair, 
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 



36 



MAUMJOX. 




But more through toil than age ; 
His square-turned joints, and strength of limb, 
Showed liim no carpet knight so trim. 
But in close light a champion grim, 

In camps a leader sage. 



Well was he armed from head to heel, 

In mail and plate of Milan steel ; 

But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 

Was all Avith burnished gold embossed. 

Amid the jilumage of the crest, 

A falcon hovered on her nest. 

With wings outs]iread, and forward breast; 

E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 

Soared sable in an azure field : 

The golden legend bore aright, 

" Who chf'cks at one, to death is diqht.'''' 



CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 37 

Blue was the charger's broidered rehi ; 
Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ; 
The knightly housing's ample fold 
Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold. 



Behind him rode two gallant squires, 
Of noble name and knightly sires ; 
They burned i\\e gilded spurs to claim, 
For well could each a war-horse tame, 
Could draw tlie bow, the sword could sway 
And lightly bear the ring away ; 
Nor less witli courteous precepts stored. 
Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
And frame love-ditties passing rare, 
And sing them to a lady fair. 

VIII. 

Four men-at-arms came at their backs, 

With halbert, bill, and battle-axe ; 

They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong. 

And led his sumpter-mules along, 

And ambling palfrey, when at need 

Him listed ease his battle-steed. 

The last and trustiest of the four 

On high his forky pennon bore ; 

Like swallow's tail in shape and hue, 

Fluttered the streamer glossy blue. 

Where, blazoned sable, as before. 

The towering falcon seemed to soar. 

Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 

In hosen black, and jerkins blue. 

With falcons Ijroidered on each breast. 

Attended on their lord's behest. 

Each, chosen for an archer good. 



38 MAEMION. canto i. 

Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; 
Each one a six-foot bow could bend, 
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, 
And at their belts their quivers rung. 
Their dusty palfreys and array 
Showed they had marched a weary way. 

IX. 

'T is meet that I should tell you now, 
How fairly armed, and ordered how, 

The soldiers of the guard, 
With musket, pike, and morion, 
To welcome noble Marmion, 

Stood in the Castle-yard ; 
Minstrels and trumpeters were there. 
The gunner lield his linstock yare, 

For welcome-shot prepared : 
Entered the train, and sucli a clang 
As then through all his turrets rang 

Old Norham never heard. 



The guards their morrice-pikes advanced. 

The trumpets flourished brave, 
The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 

And thundering welcome gave. 
A blithe salute, in martial sort. 

The minstrels well might sound. 
For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court, 

He scattered angels round. 
"Welcome to Norham, Marmion! 

Stout licart, and open hand ! 
Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, 

Thou flower of Englisli land ! " 



CANTO I. 



THE CASTLE. 



39 




Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck, 
With silver scutcheon round their neck, 

Stood on the steps of stone. 
By which you reach the donjon gate, 
And there, with herakl pomp and state, 

They hailed Lord Marmion : 
They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 

Of Tamworth tower and town ; 
And he, their courtesy to requite, 
Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight, 

All as he lighted down. 
" Now, largesse, largesse, Lord Marmion, 

Knight of the crest of gold ! 
A blazoned shield, in battle won. 

Ne'er G'uarded heart so bold." 



40 MAEMION. 



Tliey marshalled him to the Castle-hall, 

Where the guests stood all aside. 
And loudly flourished the trumpet-call, 

And the heralds loudly cried, — 
" Room, lordliiigs, room for Lord Marmion, 

With the crest and helm of gold ! 
Full well Ave know the trophies Avon 

In the lists at Cottiswold : 
There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 

'Gainst Marmion's force to stand ; 
To him he lost liis lady-loA^e, 

And to the King his land. 
Ourselves beheld the listed field, 

A sight both sad and fair; 
We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield, 

And saw his saddle bare ; 
We saw the victor win the crest, 

He Avears Avith worthy pride ; 
And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 

Plis foeman's scutcheon tied. 
Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight! 

Room, room, ye gentles gay. 
For him who conquered in the right, 

Marmion of Fontenaye ! " 



Then stepped, to meet that noble Lord, 

Sir Hugli \hQ Heron bold. 
Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 

And Captain of the Hold ; 
He led Lord ^Marmion to {\\e deas. 

Raised o'er the poA^ement high, 



CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 41 

And placed him iu the upper place — 

They feasted full and high : 
The whiles a Northern harper rude 
Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 

" How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all, 
Stout Willimondswick, 
And Hard-riding Dick, 
And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o' the Wall, 
Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, 
And taken his life at the Deadman's-shaw." 
Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook 

The harper's barbarous lay. 
Yet much he praised the pains he took, 
And well those pains did pay ; 
For lady's suit and minstrel's strain 
By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 



XIV. 

" Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron says, 

" Of your fair courtesy, 
I pray you bide some little space 

In this poor tower with me. 
Here may you keep your arms from rust, 

May breathe your war-horse well ; 
Seldom hath passed a. week but joust 

Or feat of arms befell. 
The Scots can rein a mettled steed ; 

And love to couch a spear ; — 
Saint George ! a stirring life they lead, 

Tliat have sucli neighbors near ! 
Then stay with us a little space, 

Our northern wars to learn ; 
I pray you for your lady's grace ! " 

Lord Marmion's brow grew stern. 



42 MARMION. canto i. 



XV. 

The Captain marked his altered look, 

And gave a squire the sign ; 
A mighty wassell-bowl he took, 

And crowned it high with wine. 
" Now })ledge me here, Lord Marmion ; 

But first I pray thee fair, 
Where hast thou left that page of thine. 
That used to serve thy cup of wine. 

Whose beauty was so rare ? 
When last in Raby-towers we met. 

The boy I closely eyed, 
And often marked his cheeks were wet. 

With tears he fain would hide. 
His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
To burnish shield or sharpen brand, 

Or saddle battle-steed, 
But meeter seemed for lady fair, 
To fan her cheek, or curl her hair. 
Or through embroidery, rich and rare, 

The slender silk to lead ; 
His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, 

His bosom — when he sighed. 
The russet doublet's rugged fold 

Could scarce repel its pride ! 
Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 

To serve in lady's bower ? 
Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 

A gentle paramour ? " 



XVI. 

Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest 
He rolled his kindling eye, 



THE CASTLE. 45 

With pain his rising wrath suppressed, 

Yet made a calm reply : 
" That boy thou thought so goodly fair, 
He might not brook the northern air. 
More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, 
I left him sick in Lindisfarne. 
Enough of him. — But, Heron, say, 
Why does thy lovely lady gay 
Disdain to grace the hall to-day ? 
Or has that dame, so fair and sage. 
Gone on some pious pilgrimage ? " — 
He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
Whispered light tales of Heron's dame. 



Unmarked, at least unrecked, the taunt, 

Careless the Knight replied : 
" No bird whose featliers gayly flaunt 

Delights in cage to bide ; 
Norham is grim and grated close. 
Hemmed in by battlement and fosse. 

And many a darksome tower. 
And better loves my lady bright 
To sit in liberty and light 

In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 
We hold our greyhound in our hand, 

Our falcon on our glove. 
But where shall we find leash or l)and 

For dame that loves to rove ? 
Let the wild falcon soar her swing. 
She '11 stoop wlien she has tired her wing. 



"Nay, if with Royal James's bride 
The lovely Lady Heron bide. 



46 



MARMION. 



CANTO I. 



Behold mc here a messenger, 

Your tender greetings prompt to bear ; 

For, to the Scottish court addressed, 

I journey at our King's behest, 

And pray you, of your grace, provide 

For me and mine a trusty guide. 

I have not ridden in Scotland since 

James backed the cause of that mock prince, 

Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 

Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 

Then did I march with Surrey's power, 

What time we razed old Ayton tower." — 




XIX. 

" For such-like need, my lord, 1 trow, 
Norham can find you guides enow ; 
For here be some have pricked as far. 
On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 
Have drunk the monks of Saint Bothan's ale, 
And driven the beeves of Lauderdale : 
Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 
And given them light to set their hoods." — 



CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 47 

XX. 

"Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmiou cried, 

" Were I in warlike wise to ride, 

A better guard I would not lack 

Than your stout forayers at my back ; 

But as in form of peace I go, 

A friendly messenger, to know. 

Why, through all Scotland, near and far, 

Their King is mustering troops for war, 

The sight of plundering Border spears 

Might justify suspicious fears. 

And deadly feud or thirst of spoil 

Break out in some unseemly broil. 

A herald were my fitting guide ; 

Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 

Or pardoner, or travelling priest. 

Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 



XXI. 

The Captain mused a little space, 
And passed his hand across his face. — 
"Fain would I find the guide you want, 
But ill may spare a pursuivant, 
The only men that safe can ride 
Mine errands on the Scottish side : 
And though a bishop built this fort, 
Few holy brethren here resort ; 
Even our good chaplain, as I ween, 
Since our last siege, we have not seen. 
The mass he might not sing or say. 
Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 
So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. 
And prayed for our success the while. 



48 



MARMION. 



CANTO I. 



Our Norliam vicar, woe betide, 
Is all too well in case to ride ; 
The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein 
The wildest war-horse in your train ; 
But then, no spearman in the hall 
Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 
Friar John of Tillmouth were the man ; 
A blithesome brother at the can, 
A welcome guest in hall and bower. 




lie knows each castle, town, and tower. 
In which the wine and ale is good, 
'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 
But that good man, as ill befalls. 
Hath seldom left our castle walls. 
Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede, 
In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, 



CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 49 

To teach Dame Alison her creed. 

Old Biiglitrig found him with his wife ; 

And John, an enemy to strife, 

Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. 

The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 

That, if again he venture o'er, 

He shall shrieve penitent no more. 

Little he loves such risks, I know ; 

Yet, in your guard, perchance will go." 

XXII. 

Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, 

Carved to his uncle and that lord, 

And reverently took up the word. 

" Kind uncle, woe were we each one, 

If harm should hap to brother John. 

He is a man of mirthful speech, 

Can many a game and gambol teach ; 

Full well at tables can he play. 

And sweep at bowls the stake away. 

None can a lustier carol bawl, 

The needfullest among us all. 

When time hangs heavy in the hall, 

And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 

And we can neither hunt nor ride 

A foray on the Scottish side. 

The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude 

May end in worse than loss of hood. 

Let Friar John in safety still 

Li chimney-corner snore his fill, 

Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill; 

Last night, to Norham there came one, 

Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 

" Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay. 

Well hast thou spoke ; say forth thy say." — 



50 MARMIOX. CANTO i. 



" Here is a holy Palmer come, 

From Salem first, and last from Rome ; 

One that hath kissed the blessed tomb, 

And visited each holy shrine 

In Araby and Palestine ; 

On hills of Armenie hath been, 

Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 

By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod. 

Which parted at the Prophet's rod ; 

In Sinai's wilderness he saw 

The Mount, where Israel heard the law, 

'Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin. 

And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 

He shows Saint James's cockle-shell, 

Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 

And of that Grot where Olives nod. 
Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
From all the youth of Sicily, 

Saii^ Rosalie retired to God. 



XXIV. 

" To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, 
Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 
For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. 
He knows the passes of the North, 
And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; 
Little he eats, and long Avill wake, 
And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
But when our John hath quaffed his ale. 
As little as the wind that blows. 



CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 51 

And warms itself against his nose, 

Kens he, or cares, which way he goes." — 



" Gramercy ! " quoth Lord Marmion, 
" Full loath were I, that Friar John, 
That venerable man, for me, 
Were placed in fear or jeopardy : 
If this same Palmer will me lead 

From hence to PIoly-Rood, 
Like his good saint, I'll pay his meed. 
Instead of cockle-shell, or bead, 

With angels fair and good. 
I love such holy ramblers ; still 
They know to charm a weary hill, 

With song, romance, or lay : 
Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest. 
Some lying legend, at the least. 

They bring to cheer the way." — 



"•Ah ! nol^le sir," young Selby said. 

And finger on his lip he laid, 

" This man knows much, perchance e'en more 

Than he could learn by holy lore. 

Still to himself he 's muttering. 

And shrinks as at some unseen thing. 

Last night we listened at his cell ; 

Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 

He murmured on till morn, howe'er 

No living mortal could be near. 

Sometimes I thought I heard it plain. 

As other voices spoke again. 

I cannot tell — I like it not — 

Friar John hath told us it is wrote, 



52 }rARMioy. 

No conscience clear and void of wrong- 
Can rest awake and pray so long. 
Himself still sleeps before his beads 
Have marked ten aves and two creeds." — 

XXVII. 

" Let pass," quoth Marmion ; •• by my fay, 

This man shall guide me on my way, 

Although the great arch-fiend and he 

Had sworn themselves of company. 

So please you, gentle youth, to call 

This Palmer to the Castle-hall." 

The summoned Palmer came in place ; 

His sable cowl o'erhung his face ; 

In his black mantle was he clad, 

With Peter's keys, in cloth of rod, 

On his broad shoulders Avrought; 
The scallop shell his cap did deck ; 
The crucifix around his neck 

Was from Lorctto brought ; 
His sandals were with travel tore, 
Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore ; 
The faded palm-branch in his hand 
Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 

XXVIII. 

Whenas the Palmer came in hall, 

Xor lord nor knight was there more tall. 

Or had a statelier step withal. 

Or looked more high and keen ; 
For no saluting did he wait. 
But strode across the luill of state. 
And fronted Marmion where he sate. 

As he his peer had been. 
But his u'aunt frame Avas worn witli toil ; 



CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 55 

His cheek was sunk, alas, the while ! 
And when he struggied at a smile, 

His eye looked haggard wild : 
Poor wretch, the mother that him bare. 
If she had been in presence there, 
In his Avan face and sunburnt hair 

She had not known her child. 
Danger, long travel, want, or woe. 
Soon change the form that best we know — 
For deadly fear can time outgo. 

And blanch at once the hair; 
Hard toil can roughen form and face. 
And want can quench the eye's bright grace. 
Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 

More deeply than despair. 
Happy whom none of these befall. 
But this poor Palmer knew them all. 



XXIX. 

Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 
The Palmer took on him the task, 
So he would march with morning tide, 
To Scottish court to be his guide. 
" But I have solemn vows to pay, 
And may not linger by the way. 

To fair Saint Andrew's bound, 
Within the ocean-cave to pray, 
Where good Saint Rule his holy lay. 
From midnight to the dawn of day. 

Sung to the billows' sound ; 
Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well. 
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel. 

And the crazed brain restore. 
Saint Mary grant that cave or spring 



56 MARMIOK canto i. 

Could back to peace my bosom bring, 
Or bid it tlirob no more ! " 



And now the midnight draught of sleep, 
Where wine and spices richly steep, 
In massive bowl of silver deep, 

The page presents on knee. 
Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, 
The Captain pledged his noble guest, 
The cup went througli among the rest. 

Who drained it merrily ; 
Alone the Palmer passed it by, 
Though Selby pressed him courteously. 
This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 
It hushed the merry wassail roar, 

The minstrels ceased to sound. 
Soon in the castle nought was hoard 
But the slow footstep of tlie guard 

Pacing his sober round. 

XXXI. 

With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 

And first the chapel doors unclose ; 

Then, after morning rites were done — 

A 'hasty mass from Friar John — 

And knight and squire had broke their fast 

On rich substantial repast, 

Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse. 

Then came the stirrup-cup in course : 

Between the Baron and his host. 

No point of courtesy was lost ; 

High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid. 

Solemn excuse the Captain made. 

Till, filing from the gate, had ])assed 



THE CASTLE. 



57 



That noble train, their lord the last. 
Then loudly rung the trumjoet call ; 
Thundered the cannon from the wall, 

And shook the Scottish shore ; 
Around the castle eddied slow 
Volumes of smoke as white as snow 

And hid its turrets lioar ; 
Till they rolled forth upon the air, 
And met the river breezes there, 
Which gave again the prospect fair. 




CANTO SECOND 



IXTltODUCnOX TO 







^^ 



M 



And through the foliage showed his head, 
"With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
What pines on every mountain sprung, 
O'er every dell what birches hung, 
In every breeze Avhat aspens shook, 
What alders shaded every brook ! 

" Here, in my shade," methinks he 'd say, 
" The mighty stag at noontide lay : 
The wolf I 've seen, a fiercer game, — 
The neighboring dingle beai-s his name, — 
With lurching step around me prowl, 
And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
The mountain-boar, on battle set, 
His tusks upon nxy stem would whet ; 
While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, 
Have bounded by, through gay greenwood. 
Then oft, from Newark's riven tower, 
Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
A thousand vassals nnistered round. 
With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound 
And I might see the youth intent, 
Guard every pass with crossbow bent ; 
And through the brake the rangers stalk. 
And falc'ners hold the ready haAvk ; 
And forestei-s, in greenwood trim. 
Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, 
Attentive, as the bratchet's bay 
From the dark covert drove the prey. 
To slip them as he broke away. 
The :^tartled quarry bounds amain. 



<4h 



CAXrO SECONL. 



^^^ 



I 



As fast the gallant greyhounds strain ; 
Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
Answers the harquebuss below ; 
While all the rocking hills reply, 
To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry, 
And bugles ringing lightsomely." 

Of such proud huntings, many tales 
Yet linger in our lonely dales, 
Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, 
Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow. 
But not more blithe that sylvan court. 
Than we have been at humbler spoil ; 
Though small our pomp, and mean our game. 
Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. 
Eeraember'st thou my greyhounds true ? 
O'er holt or hill there never flew. 
From slip or leash there never sprang, 
More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 
Nor dull, between each merry chase, 
Passed by the intermitted space ; 
For we had fair resource in store, 
In Classic and in Gothic lore : 
We marked each memorable scene, 
And held poetic talk between ; 
Xor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
But had its legend or its song. 
All silent now — for now are still 
Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! 
Xo longer, from thy mountains dun, 
The veoman hears the well-known ccun, 



U-, 



ssV 






-QJ^ 



^. 



'h^. 



IXTRODUCTIOX TO 






And while his honest heart glows warm, 
At thought of his paternal farm, 
Eound to his mates a lirimmer fills. 
And drinks, " The Chieftain of the Hills ! ' 
No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, 
Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, 
Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh ; 
No youthful Baron's left to grace 
The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chase, 
And ape, in manly step and tone. 
The majesty of Oberon : 
^And she is gone, whose lovely face 
Is but her least and lowest grace ; 
Though if to Sylphid Queen 'twere given. 
To show our earth the charms of Heaven, 
She could not glide along the air. 
With form more light, or face more fair. 
No more the widow's deafened ear 
Grows quick that lady's step to hear : 
At noontide she expects her not. 
Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
Pensive she turns her humming wheel, 
Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal. 
Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, 
The gentle hand by which they 're fed. 



y 






From Yair, — which hills so closely bind, 
Scarce can the Tweed his passage find. 
Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. 
Till all his eddvin" currents boil, — 



W^^:'^o 



CANTO SECOND. 



65 



Her long descended lord is gone, 
And left us by the stream alone. 
And much I miss those sportive boys, 
Companions of ray mountain joys. 
Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
When thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
Close to my side, with what delight 
They pressed to hear of Wallace wight. 
When, pointing to bis airy mound, 
I called his ramparts holy ground ! 
Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 
And I have smiled, to feel my cheek. 
Despite the difference of our years. 
Return again the glow of theirs. 
Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure, 
They will not, cannot long endure, 
Condemned to stem the world's rude tide, 
You may not linger by the side ; 
For Fate shall thrust you from the shore, 
And passion ply the sail and oar. 
Yet cherish the remembrance still. 
Of the lone mountain, and the rill ; 
For trust, dear boys, the time will come. 
When fiercer transport shall be dumb. 
And you will think right frequently. 
But, well I hope, without a sigh, 
On the free hours that we have spent, 
Together, on the brown hill's bent. 



7X 



iv_; 



4 



•m 



u 



When, musing on companions gone, 
We doubly feel ourselves alone. 



"iM. 



'^. 






66 



INTRODUCTION TO 



re 



X^ 



Something, my friend, we yet may gain. 

There is a pleasure in this pain : 

It soothes the love of lonely rest, 

Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 

'T is silent amid wordly toils, 

And stifled soon by mental broils ; 

But, in a bosom thus prepared. 

Its still small voice is often heard. 

Whispering a mingled sentiment, 

'Twixt resignation and content. 

Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, 

By lone Saint Mary's silent lake ; 

Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge. 

Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 

Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 

At once upon the level brink ; 

And just a trace of silver sand 

Marks where the water meets the laud. 

Far in the mirror, bright and blue. 

Each hill's huge outline you may view ; 

Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 

Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there. 

Save where, of land, yon slender line 

Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. 

Yet even this nakedness has power. 

And aids the feeling of the hour : 

Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, 

Where living thing concealed might lie ; 

Nor point, retiring, hides a dell. 

Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell 

There 's nothing left to ftxncy's guess, 



CANTO SECOND. 



You see that all is loneliness : 

And silence aids — though the steep hills 

Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 

In summer tide, so soft they weep, 

The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 

Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude. 

So stilly is the solitvide. 



^P 



Nought living meets the eye or ear, 
But well I ween the dead are near ; 
For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low. 
Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil. 
The peasant rests him from his toil, 
And, dying, bids his bones be laid 
Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 



If age had tamed the passions' strife, 
And fate had cut my ties to life. 
Here have I thought, 't were sweet to dwell, 
And rear agaiu the chaplain's cell, 
Like that same peaceful hermitage, 
Where ]\Iilton longed to spend his age. 
'T were sweet to mark the setting day, 
On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; 
And, as it faint and feeble died 
On the broad lake, and mountain's side, 
To say, " Thus pleasures fade away ; 
Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, 
And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray ;" 
Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower, 



(?: 



Qj 



P 



if?;#^ 



5^4t^ 








INTROBUCTIOX TO 

And think on Yarrow's faded Flower : 

And when that mountain-sound I heard, 

Which bids us be for storm prepared, 

The distant rustling of his wings, 

As up his force the Tempest brings, 

'T were sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, 

To sit upon the Wizard's grave ; 

That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust 

From company of holy dust ; 

On which no sunbeam ever shines — 

So superstition's creed divines — 

Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, 

Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 

And mark the wild-swans mount the gale. 

Spread wide through mist their snowy sail. 

And ever stoop again, to lave 

Their bosoms on the surging wave ; 

Then, when against the driving hail 

No longer might my plaid avail. 

Buck to my lonely home retire. 

And light my lamp, and trim my fire ; 

There ponder o'er some mystic lay. 

Till the wild tale had all its sway. 

And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 

I heard unearthly voices speak, 

And thought the Wizard Priest was come 

To claim again his ancient home ! 

And bade my busy fancy range. 

To frame him fitting shape and strange. 

Till from the task my brow I cleared, 

And smiled to think that I had feared. 





I 



But chief, 't were sweet to think such life — 
Though but escape from fortune's strife — 
Something most matchless good and wise, 
A great and grateful sacrifice ; 
And deem each hour, to musing given, 
A step upon the road to heaven. 

Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease, 
Such peaceful solitudes displease ; 
He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
Amid the elemental war : 
And my black Palmer's choice had been 
Some ruder and more savage scene, 
Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skene 
There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 
Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; 
O'er the black waves incessant driven. 
Dark mists infect the summer heaven ; 
Through the rude barriers of the lake, 
Away its hurrying waters break, 
Faster and whiter dash and curl. 
Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 
Thunders the viewless stream below, 
Diving, as if condemned to lave 
Some demon's subterranean cave, 
Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell. 
Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. 
And well that Palmer's form and mien 
Had suited with the stormy scene. 
Just on the edge, straining his ken 





THE CONVENT. 



The breeze, which swept away the smoke, 

Round Norham Castle rolled, 
When all the loud artillery spoke, 
With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke. 

As Marmion left the Hold. 
It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze. 
For, far upon Northumbrian seas. 

It freshly blew, and strong, 
Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile, 
Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle, 

It bore a bark along. 



72 MARMION. canto il 

Upon tlie gale she stooped her side, 
And bounded o'er the swelling tide, 

As she were dancing home ; 
The merry seamen laughed, to see 
Their gallant slii}) so lustily 

Furrow- the green sea-foam. 
Much joyed they in their honored freight; 
For, on the deck, in chair of state, 
The Abbess of Saiut Hilda placed, 
With (ive fair nuns, the galley graced. 

II. 
'Twas sweet to see these holy maids. 
Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, 

Their first flight from tlie cage. 
How timid, and how curious too. 
For all to them was strange and new. 
And all the common sights they view. 

Their wonderment engage. 
One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail. 

With many a benedicitc ; 
One at the rippling surge grew pale. 

And would for terror pray ; 
Then shrieked, because the seadog, nigh. 
His round black head, and sparkling eye. 

Reared o'er the foaming spray ; 
And one would still adjust her veil. 
Disordered by the summer gale. 
Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
Her dedicated charms might spy ; 
Perchance, because such action graced 
Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 
Light was each simple bosom there. 
Save two, Avho ill might pleasure share, — 
The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 



CANTO II. THE CONVENT. 73 



III. 

The Abbess was of noble blood, 
But early took the veil and hood, 
Ere upon life she cast a look, 
Or knew the world that she forsook. 
Fair too she was, and kind had been 
As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
For her a timid lover sigh. 
Nor knew the influence of her eye. 
Love, to her ear, was but a name. 
Combined with vanity and shame ; 
Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
Bounded within the cloister wall : 
The deadliest sin her mind could reach, 
Was of monastic rule the breach ; 
And her ambition's highest aim 
To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
For this she gave her ample dower. 
To raise the convent's eastern tower; 
For this, with carving rare and quaint. 
She decked the chapel of the saint. 
And gave the relic-shrine of cost. 
With ivory and gems embossed. 
The poor her convent's bounty blest. 
The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 



IV. 

Black was her garb, her rigid rule 

Reformed on Benedictine school ; 

Her cheek was pale, her form was spare 

Vigils, and penitence austere, 

Had early quenched the light of youth. 

But gentle was the dame, in sooth; 



74 MARMIOX. 

Thoiiuli, vain of her religious sway, 
She loved to sec her maids obey, 
Yet nothing stern was she in cell, 
And the nuns loved their Abbess well. 
Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
Summoned to Lindisfarne, she came. 
There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old, 
And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
For inquisition stern and strict, 
On two apostates from the faith, 
And, if need were, to doom to death. 

V. 

Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
Save this, that she was young and fair; 
As yet a novice unprofessed, 
Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
She was betrothed to one now dead. 
Or Avorse, who had dishonored fled. 
Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
To one who loved her for her land: 
Herself, almost heart-broken now. 
Was bent to take the vestal vow, 
And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, 
Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 

VI. 

She sate upon the galley's prow, 

And seemed to mark the waves below; 

Nay, seemed, so fixed her look and eye, 

To count them as they glided by. 

She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 

Far other scene her thoughts recall, — 

A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare. 



CANTO II. 



CANTO II. THE CONVENT. 77 

Nor waves, nor breezes, murmured there ; 
There saw she, where some careless hand 
O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand, 
To hide it till the jackals come, 
To tear it from tlic scanty tomb. — 
See what a woful look was given. 
As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 



Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — 

These charms might tame the fiercest breast : 

Harpers have sung, and poets told. 

That he, in fury uncontrolled, 

The shaggy monarch of the wood. 

Before a virgin, fair and good. 

Hath pacified his savage mood. 

But passions in the human frame 

Oft put the lion's rage to shame: 

And jealousy, by dark intrigue. 

With sordid avarice in league, 

Had practised with their bowl and knife, 

Against the mourner's harmless life. 

This crime was charged 'gainst those who lay 

Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 

VIII. 

And now the vessel skirts the strand 
Of mountainous Northumberland ; 
Towns, towers, and halls, successive rise, 
And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay. 
And Tynemouth's priory and bay ; 
They marked, amid her trees, the hall 
Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 
They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 



78 



MAIDIION. 



CAXTO II. 



Rush to the sea through souuduig woods ; 

They passed the tower of Widderington, 

Mother of many a valiant son ; 

At Coquet-isle tlieh- beads they tell 

To the good saint who owned the cell; 

Tlien did the Alne attention claim, 

And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 

And next, they crossed themselves, to hear, 

The whitening breakers sound so near, 

Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar, 

On Dunstanborough's caverned shore ; 

Tliy tower, proud Bamborough, nuxrked they there. 

King Ida's castle, huge and square. 

From its tall rock look grimly down, 

And on the swelling ocean frown ; 

Then from the coast they bore away, 

And reached the Holy Island's bay. 




CANTO II. THE CONVENT. 79 



IX. 

The tide did now its flood-mark gain, 
And girdled in the Saint's domain : 
For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
Varies from continent to isle ; 
Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, 
The pilgrims to the shrine find Avay ; 
Twice every day, the waves efface 
Of staves and sandalled feet the trace. 
As to the port the galley flew, 
Higher and higher rose to view 
The Castle with its battled walls, 
The ancient Monastery's halls, 
A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, 
Placed on the margin of the isle. 



X. 

In Saxon strength that Abbey frowned. 
With massive arches broad and round. 
That rose alternate, row and row, 
On ponderous columns, short and low, 

Built ere the art was known. 
By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, 
The arcades of an alleyed walk 
To emulate in stone. 
On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 
And needful was such strength to these, 
Exposed to the tempestuous seas, 
Scourged by the winds' eternal sway, 
Open to rovers fierce as they, 
Which could twelve hundred years withstand 
Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 



80 



MAEMIOX. 



Not but that portions of the pile, 

Robniklod in a later style, 

Showed where the spoiler's hand had been ; 

Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 

Had worn the ])illar''s earving quaint. 

And mouldered in his niehe the saint, 

And rounded, with consuming power, 

The pointed angles of each tower ; 

Yet still entire the Abbey stood. 

Like veteran, worn, l)ut unsubdued. 

XI. 

Soon as they neared his turrets strong, 
The maidens i-aised Saint Hilda's song. 
And with the sea wave and the wind, 
Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined. 

And made harmonious close : 
Then, answering from the sandy shore. 
Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar. 

According chorus rose : 
Down to the haven of the Isle, 
The monks and nuns in order iile, 
From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 
Banner, and cross, and relics there. 
To meet Saint Hilda's maids, thev bare: 




THE CONVENT. 81 

And, as they caught the sounds on air, 

They echoed back the hymn. 
The islanders, in joyous mood, 
Rushed emulously through the flood. 

To hale the bark to land ; 
Conspicuous by her veil and hood, 
Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, 

And blessed them with her hand. 

XII. 

Suppose we now the Avelcome said, 
Suppose the Convent banquet made : 

All through the holy dome. 
Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
Wherever vestal maid might pry. 
Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye. 

The stranger sisters roam : 
Till fell the evening damp with dew, 
And the sharp sea-l^reeze coldly blew, 
For there, even summer night is chill. 
Then, having strayed and gazed their fill, 

Tliey closed around the fire ; 
And all, in turn, essayed to paint 
The rival merits of their saint, 

A theme that ne'er can tire 
A holy maid ; for, be it known. 
That their saint's honor is their own. 

XIII. 

Tlicn Whitby's nuns exulting told, 
How to their house three Barons bold 

Must menial service do ; 
While horns blow out a note of shame. 
And monks cry, " Fye upon your name ! 
In wrath, for loss of sylvan game, 



82 



MAILMIOK 



CANTO II. 



Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." — 
"This, on Ascension-day, eucli year, 
"While laboring on our harbor-i)ior. 
Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." — 
They told, how in their convent-cell 
A Saxon ])rincess once did dwell. 

The lovely Edclfied ; 




And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
Was changed into a coil of stone. 

When holy Hilda ])rayed ; 
Themselves, within their holy bound. 
Their stony folds had often found. 
They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail. 
As over Whitby's towers they sail. 
And, sinking down, with fiutterings faint, 
They do their homage to the saint. 



CANTO II. THU CONVENT. 83 



XIV. 

Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail, 

T(^ vie Avith these in holy tale ; 

His body's resting-place, of old, 

How oft their patron changed, the}'" told ; 

How, when the rude Dane burned their pile, 

The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 

O'er northern mountain, marsh, and m!jor. 

From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 

Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bore. 

They rested them in fair Melrose ; 
But though, alive, he loved it well. 

Not there his relics might repose ; 
For, wondrous tale to tell ! 

In his stone-coflin forth he rides, 

A ponderous bark for river tides, 

Yet light as gossamer it glides. 
Downward to Tilmouth cell. 
Nor long was his abiding there, 
For southward did the saint repair ; 
Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 
His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw 

Hailed him with joy and fear ; 
And, after many wanderings past, 
He chose his lordly seat at last. 
Where his cathedral, huge and vast. 

Looks down upon the Wear ; 
There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
His relics are in secret laid ; 

But none may know the place. 
Save of his holiest servants three, 
Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 

Who share that wondrous grace. 



84 



MAILMIOX. 



CANTO II. 




XV. 

Who may his miracles declare ! 

Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, — 

Although with them they led 
Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale, 
And Loden's knights, all sheathed in mail, 
And the bold men of Teviotdale, — 

Before his standard fled. 
'Twas he, to vindicate his reign, 
Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
And turned the Conqueror back again, 
When, with his Norman bowyer l)and, 
He came to waste Northumberland. 



THE CONVENT. 85 



XVI, 

But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 
If, on a rock, by Lindisfanie, 
Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
Tlie sea-born beads that bear his name : 
Such tales had Whitby's fishers told, 
And said they might his shape behold. 

And hear his anvil sound ; 
A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, 
Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm 

And night were closing round. 
But this, as tale of idle fame, 
The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. 



While round the fire such legends go, 
Far different was the scene of woe, 
Where, in a secret aisle beneath. 
Council was held of life and death. 

It was more dark and lone that vault, 
Than the worst dungeon cell : 

Old Colwulf built it, for his fault. 
In penitence to dwell. 
When he, for cowl and beads, laid down 
The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
This den, which, chilling every sense 

Of feeling, hearing, sight. 
Was called the Vault of Penitence, 

Excluding air and light, 
Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 
A place of burial for such dead. 
As, having died in mortal sin. 
Might not be laid the church within. 



86 M ARM ION. canto ii. 

'Twas iiMW a ])laeo of punishment; 
Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, 

As reached the upper air, 
The hearers blessed themselves, and said, 
The spirits of the sinful dead 

Bemoaned their torments there. 

XVIII. 

But though, in the monastic pile, 
Did of this penitential aisle 

Some vague tradition go. 
Few only, save the Abl)ot, knew 
Where the place lay ; and still more few 
Were those, who had from him the clew 

To that dread vault to go. 
Victim and executioner 
Were blindfold when transported there. 
In low dark rounds the arches hung, 
From the rude rock the side-walls sprung; 
The gravestones, rudely sculptured o'er, 
Half sunk in earth, by time half Avore, 
Were all the pavement of the floor ; 
The mildew-drops fell one by one. 
With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 
A cresset, in an iron chain. 
Which served to light this drear domain, 
With damp and darkness seemed to strive, 
As if it scarce might keep alive ; 
And yet it dimly served to show 
The awful conclave met below. 

XIX. 

There, met to doom in secrecy. 

Were placed the heads of convents three: 

All servants of Saint Benedict, 



CANTO II. THE CONVENT. 89 

The statutes of whose order strict 

On iron table lay ; 
In long black dress, on seats of stone, 
Behind were these three judges shown 

By the pale cresset's ray. 
The Abbess of Saint Hilda's, there, 
Sat for a space with visage bare. 
Until, to hide her bosom's swell. 
And tear-drops that for pity fell. 

She closely drew her veil : 
Yon shrouded figure, as I guess. 
By her proud mien and flowing dress, 
Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress, 

And she with awe looks pale : 
And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight 
Has long been quenched by age's night. 
Upon whose wrinkled brow alone, 
Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace, is shown, 

Whose look is hard and stern, — 
Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style ; 
For sanctity called, through the isle, 

The Saint of Lindisfarne. 



Before them stood a guilty pair ; 
But, though an equal fate they share, 
Yet one alone deserves our care. 
Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
The cloak and doublet, loosely tied. 
Obscured her charms, but could not hide. 
Her cap down o'er her face she drew; 

And, on her doublet breast, 
She tried to hide the badge of blue, 

Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
But, at the Prioress' command. 



90 MABMIOK 

A Monk undid the silken band, 

That tied her tresses fair, 
And raised the bonnet from her liead. 
And down her slender form they spread, 

In ringlets rich and rare. 
Constance de Beverley they know. 
Sister professed of Fontevraud, 
Whom the Church numbered with the dead, 
For broken vows, and convent fled. 

XXI. 

When thus her face was given to view, — 

Although so pallid was her hue. 

It did a ghastly contrast bear 

To those bright ringlets glistering fair, — 

Her look composed, and steady eye, 

Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 

And there she stood so calm and pale, 

That, but her breathing did not fail, 

And motion slight of eye and head. 

And of her bosom, warranted 

That neither sense nor pulse she lacks. 

You might have thought a form of wax, 

Wrought to the very life, was there ; 

So still she was, so pale, so fair. 



Her comrade was a sordid soul. 

Such as does murder for a meed; 
Who, but of fear, knows no control, 
Because his conscience, seared and foul, 

Feels not the import of his deed ; 
One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires 
Beyond his own more brute desires. 
Such tools the Tempter ever needs, 



CAXTO II. 



CANTO II. TEE CONVENT. 91 

To do the savagest of deeds ; 

For them no visioiied terrors daunt, 

Their nights no fancied spectres haunt, 

One fear with them, of all most base, 

The fear of death, — alone finds place. 

This ^Yretch was clad in frock and cowl, 

And shamed not loud to moan and howl. 

His body on the floor to dash, 

And crouch, like hound beneath the lash ; 

While his mute partner, standing near, 

Waited her doom without a tear. 

XXIII. 

Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, 
Well might her paleness terror speak ! 
For there were seen in that dark wall. 
Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall ; — 
Who enters at such grisly door, 
Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 
In each a slender meal was laid. 
Of roots, of water, and of bread : 
By each, in Benedictine dress. 
Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 
Who, holding high a blazing torch. 
Showed the grim entrance of the porch : 
Reflecting back the smoky beam. 
The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
Hewn stones and cement were displayed, 
And building tools in order laid. 

XXIV. 

These executioners were chose. 
As men who were with mankind foes, 
And with despite and envy fired. 
Into the cloister had retired ; 



92 MARMION. canto ii. 

Or who, in desperate doubt of grace, 

Strove, by deep penance, to efface 
Of some foul crime the stain ; 

For, as the vassals of her will. 

Such men the Church selected still, 

As cither joyed in doing ill, 

Or thought more grace to gain, 
If, iu her cause, they wrestled down 
Feelings their nature strove to own. 
By strange device were they brought there, 
Tliey knew not how, nor knew not where. 

XXV. 

A)id now that blind old Abbot rose. 

To speak the Chapter's doom. 
On those the wall was to inclose. 

Alive, within the tomb ; 
But stopped, because that Avoful ]\Iaid, 
Gathering her ])o\vers, to speak essayed. 
Twice she essayed, and twice in vain ; 
Her accents might no utterance gain ; 
Nought but im])erfect murmurs slip 
From her convulsed and quivering lip ; 
Twixt each attcmi)t all was so still. 
You seemed to hear a distant rill — 

'Twas ocean's swells and falls; 
For though this vault of sin and fear 
Was to the sounding surge so near, 
A tempest there you scarce could hear, 
So massive were the walls. 



XXVI. 

At length, an effort sent apart 

The blood that curdled to her heart, 



CANTO II. THE CONVENT. 

And light came to her eye, 
And color dawned upon her cheek, 
A hectic and a fluttered streak, 
Like that left on the Cheviot peak, 

By Autumn's stormy sky ; 



93 



fll 



And when her silence hroke at length, 
Still as she spoke slie gathered strengtli, 

And armed herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy, 

In form so soft and fair. 



XXVII. 



" I speak not to implore your grace, 
Well know I, for one minute's space 

Successless might I sue : 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 



94 MARMIOK canto ii. 

For if a death of lingering pain, 

To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 

Vain are your masses too. — 
I listened to a traitor's tale, 
I left the convent and the veil ; 
For three long years I bowed my pride, 
A horse-boy in his train to ride ; 
And well my folly's meed he gave. 
Who forfeited, to be his slave, 
All here, and all beyond the grave. — 
He saw yomig Clara's face more fair, 
He knew her of broad lands the heir, 
Forgot his vows, his faitli forswore, 
And Constance was beloved no more. — 

'T is an old tale, and often told ; 
But did my fate and wish agree. 

Ne'er had been read, in story old. 

Of maiden true betrayed for gold, 

That loved, or was avenged, like me ! 

XXVIII. 

" The King approved his favorite's aim ; 
In vain a rival barred his claim, 

Wliosc fate with Clare's was plight, 
For he attaints that rival's fame 
With treason's charge — and on they came 
In mortal lists to fight. 
Their oaths are said. 
Their prayers are prayed. 
Their lances in the rest are laid, 
They meet in mortal shock ; 
And hark ! the throng, with thundering cry, 
Shout ' Marmion, Marmion ! to the sky, 

De Wilton to the block ! ' 
Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide 



CANTO II. TEE CONVENT. 95 

When in the lists two champions ride, 

Say, was Heaven's justice here ? 
When, loyal in his love and faith, 
Wilton found overthrow or death, 

Beneath a traitor's spear ? 
How false the charge, how true he fell. 
This guilty packet best can tell." 
Then drew a packet from her breast, 
Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest. 

XXIX. 

" Still was false Marmion's bridal stayed ; 
To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 

The hated match to shun. 
' Ho ! shifts she thus ? ' King Henry cried, 
' Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride, 

If she were sworn a nun.' 
One way remained — the King's command 
Sent Marmion to the Scottish land : 
I lingered here, and rescue planned 

For Clara and for me : 
This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear, 
He would to Whitby's shrine repair. 
And, by his drugs, my rival fair 
A saint in heaven should be. 
But ill the dastard kept his oath, 
Wliose cowardice has undone us both. 

XXX. 

" And now my tongue the secret tells, 
Not that remorse my bosom swells, 
But to assure my soul that none 
Sliall ever wed with Marmion. 
Had fortune my last hope betrayed, 



96 MAEMION. canto ii. 

This packet, to the Kino- conveyed, 

Had given him to the headsman's stroke, 

Althougli my heart that instant brukc. — 

Now, men of death, work forth your mIU, 

For I can suffer, and be still ; 

And come he slow, or come he fast, 

It is but Death who comes at last. 



" Yet dread me, from my living- tomb. 

Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome ! 

If Marmion's late remorse should wake. 

Full soon such vengeance will he take, 

That you shall wish the fiery Dane 

Had rather been your guest again. 

Behind, a darker hour ascends ! 

The altars quake, the crosier bends. 

The ire of a despotic King 

Rides forth upon destruction's wing; 

Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 

Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep ; 

Some traveller then shall find my bones 

Whitening amid disjointed stones. 

And, ignorant of priests' cruelty, 

Marvel such relics here should be." 

XXXII. 

Fixed was her look, and stern her air : 
Back from her shoulders streamed her hair ; 
The locks, that wont her brow to shade. 
Stared up erectly from her head ; 
Her figure seemed to rise more high ; 
Her voice, despair's wild energy 
Had given a tone of prophecy. 
Appalled the astonished conclave sate ; 



TEE CONVENT. 97 

With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
Gazed on the light inspired form, 
And listened for the avenging storm; 
The judges felt the victim's dread ; 
No hand was moved, no word was said. 
Till thus the Abbot's doom was given. 
Raising his sightless balls to heaven: — 
" Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 
Sinful brother, part in peace ! " 

From that dire dungeon, place of doom, 

Of execution too, and tomb. 
Paced forth the judges three ; 

Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 

The butclier-work that there befell, 

When they had glided from the cell 
Of sin and misery. 



An hundred winding steps convey 
That conclave to the upper day ; 
But, ere they breathed the fresher air. 
They heard the shriekings of despair. 

And many a stifled groan : 
With speed their upward way they take,- 
Such speed as age and fear can make, — 
And crossed themselves for terror's sake, 

As hurrying, tottering on : 
Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, 
They seemed to hear a dying groan, 
And bade the passing knell to toll 
For welfare of a parting soul. 
Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; 
To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled, 
7 



MARMIOK 



CANTO II. 



His beads the wakeful hermit told, 
The Bamboroiigh peasant raised liis head, 
But sle})t ere lialf a i>rayer he said ; 
So far was heard the mighty knell, 
The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
Spread his broad nostril to the wind. 
Listed before, aside, behind. 
Then couehed him down beside the hind, 
And quaked among the mountain fern. 
To hear that sound, so dull and stern. 




CANTO THIRD 







WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ. 

Ashesticl, Ettrick Forest. 

Like April morning clouds, that pass, 
With varying shadow, o'er the grass. 
And imitate, on field and furrow, 
Life's checkered scene of joy and sorrow ; 
Like streamlet of the mountain north, 
Now in a torrent racing forth, 
Xow winding slow its silver train, 
And almost slumbering on the plain ; 
Like breezes of the autumn day, 
Whose voice inconstant dies away, 
And ever swells again as fast, 
When the ear deems its murmur past ; 
Thus various, my romantic theme 
Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 









AV> 











TTT TTTTTTTT TT TT TT Tj^; 



Lilii;^^": IT I 



lyTROBUCTWN TO 



Pleased, views the rivulet ufur, 
Weaving its maze irregular ; 
And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees 
Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, 
Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale ! 

Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
I love the license all too well, 
In sounds now lowly, and now strong. 
To raise the desultory song ? — 
Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime, 
Some transient fit of lofty rhyme 
To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 
Yov many an error of the muse, 
Oft hast thou said, " If, still misspent, 
Thine hours to poetry are lent, 
Go, and to tame thy wandering course, 
Quaft' from the fountain at the source ; 
Approach those masters, o'er whose tomb 
Immortal laurels ever bloom : 
Instructive of the feebler bard. 
Still from the grave their A^oice is heard ; 
From them, and from the paths they showed 
Choose honored guide and practised road ; 
Nor ramble on through brake and maze, 
With harpers rude of barbarous days. 

" Or deem'st thou not our later time 
Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? 
Hast thou no elegiac verse 




^^^m 
/ M 



^^mMm^M^p^m 



f l^TO TiimD 



103 



^ 



l^^ 



n 



For Brunswick's venerable hearse % 

What ! not a line, a tear, a sigh, 

When valor bleeds for liberty ? — 

Oh, hero of that glorious time, 

When, Avith unrivalled light sublime, — 

Though martial Austria, and though all 

The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 

Though banded Europe stood her foes — 

The star of Brandenburgh arose ! 

Thou couldst not live to see her beam 

Forever quenched in Jena's stream. 

Lamented Chief ! — it was not given 

To thee to change the doom of Heaven, 

And crush that dragon in its birth. 

Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 

Lamented Chief ! — not thine the power, 

To save in that presumptuous hour, 

When Prussia hurried to the field, 

And snatched the spear, but left the shield I 

Valor and skill 't was thine to try. 

And, tried in vain, 't was thine to die. 

Ill had it seemed thj^ silver hair 

The last, the bitterest pang to share, 

For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven. 

And birthrights to usurpers given ; 

Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel. 

And witness woes thou couldst not heal ! 

On thee relenting Heaven bestows 

For honored life an honored close ; 

And when revolves, in time's sure change, 

The hour of Germany's revenge, 



^\ 



a« 



:-^t 



K¥S^ 





\. 



c 




AVhni, liu itliiiu' iun Joi lu i ^xki' 
Sonio lu ^\ Aininuus '-liall aw ake, 
Ilei (liampion, eie lie stnko, sliall coiiu 
To A\]u't ]u^ 'iwoHl on BiUNhWick'.s tuiuli. 

" Or of tlie Iled-Cross hero teach 
Dai;ntles3 in dungeon as on breach : 
Alike to him the sea, the shore, 
The brand, the bridle, or the oar : 
Alike to him the war that calls 
Its votaries to the shattered walls, 
Which the grim Turk, besmeared witli Idood, 
Against the Invincible made good ; 
Or that, Avhose thundering voice could wake 
The silence of the i)olar lake, 
When stubborn Russ, and mettled Swede, 
On the M'arped wave their death-game playeil ; 
Or that, where Vengeance and Affright 
Howled round the father of the fight, 
Who snatched, on Alexandria's sand, 
The con(|uen)r's Avreath with dying hand. 

" Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
Restore the ancient tragic line, 
And emulate the notes that rung 
From the wild harp, which silent hung 
By silver Avon's holy shore, 
Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er ; 
When she, the bold Enchantress, came, 
With fearless hand and heart on flame ! 
From the pale willow snatched the treasure, 







- V "^"z 



ri\jo I HI III) 



10: 



^^:l 




And swept it Avith a kindred measure, 
Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, 
Awakening at the inspired strain. 
Deemed their own Shakspeare lived again." 

Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging 
With praises not to me belonging, 
In task more meet for mightiest powers, 
Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. 
But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighed 
That secret power by all obeyed, 
Which warps not less the passive mind. 
Its source concealed or undefiiTed ; 
Whether an impulse, that has birth 
.Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 
One with our feelings and our powers, 
And rather part of us than ours ; 
Or whether titlier termed the sway 
Of habit, formed in early day 1 
Howe'er derived, its force confest 
Rules with despotic sway the breast. 
And drags us on by viewless chain, 
While taste and reason plead in vahi. 
Look east, and ask the Belgian why, 
Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, 
He seeks not eager to inhale 
The freshness of the mountain gale. 
Content to rear his whitened wall 
Beside the dank and dull canal 1 
He'll say, from youth he loved to see 




mem 













The white sail glidiiij^' by the tree. 
Or see you weather-beaten liind, 
Whose sluggish herds before hiui wind, 
Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek 
His northern clime and kindred speak ; 
Tiirough England's laughing meads he goes, 
And England's wealth around him flows ; 
Ask, if it would content him well, 
At ease in those gay plains to dwell, 
Where hedge-rows spread a verdant sci-een, 
And spires and forests intervene, 
And the neat cottage peeps between ? 
No ! not. for these will he exchange 
His dark Lochaber's boundless range ; 
Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
Bexmevis gray, and Garry's lake. 

Thus while I ape the measure wild 
(.)!' tales that charmed me yet a child, 
Rude though they be, still with the chime 
Return the thoughts of early time ; 
And feelings, roused in life's first day, 
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. 
Which cliarmed my fancy's wakening hour. 
Though no broad river swept along, 
To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 
Though sighed no groves in summer gale. 
To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed ; 



|C>' 







I lIIIIIIfTTT 



.:i ^^ 







Yet was poetic impulse given, 
B\ the gieeii liill and clear blue heaven. 
It \\as a Ij.uren scene, and wild, 
\\ here naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
But t\ei and anon between 
La} \ eh et tufts of loveliest green ; 
And well the lonely infant knew 
Recesses where the wall-flower grew, 
And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
The sun in all its round surveyed ; 
And still I thought that shattered tower 
Tlie mightiest work of human power ; 
* i , - 1 And marvelled as the aged hind 

With some strange tale bewitched my mind, 
Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
Down from that strength had spurred thei 

horse, 
Their southern rapine to renew, 
Far in the distant Cheviots blue. 
And, home returning, filled the hall 
With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl. 
]\Iethought that still with trump and clang, 
The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
^rethought grim features, seamed with scars, 
Glared through the window's rusty bars, 
And ever, by the winter hearth. 
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, 
Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms. 
Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; 









TTTTi I TT rr -n .l>/r ttt tt ttt 



INTRODUCTION TO 







Of patriot battles, won of old 

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 

Of later fields of feud and fiyht, 

When, pouring from their Highland hei^ 

The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 

Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 

While stretched at length upon the floor, 

Again I fought each combat o'er, 

Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 

The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 

And still the scattered Southron fled before. 

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace, 
Anew, each kind familiar face. 
That brightened at our evening fire ! 
From the thatched mansion's gray-haired Sire, 
Wise without learning, plain and good, 
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen. 
Showed what in youth its glance had been ; 
Whose doom discording neighbors sought, 
Content with equity unbougbt ; 
To him the venerable Priest, 
Our frequent and familiar guest, 
Whose life and manners well could paint 
Alike the student and the saint ; 
Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
With gambol rude and timeless joke : 
For I Avas wayward, bold, and wild, 
A self-willed imp, a grandame's child ; 




^ 
S 



z( 




THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 



The livelong day Lord Marmion rode ; 
The mountain path the Palmer showed 
By glen and streamlet winded still, 
Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
They might not choose the lowland road, 
For the Merse foray ers were abroad, 
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, 
Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 
Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down ; 
On wing of jet, from his repose 



112 



MA EM ION. 



CANTO III. 




In the deep heath, the bhiek-cock rose ; 
Sprung from the gorse the thnid roe, 
Nor waited for the bending bow ; 
And when the stony path began, 
By which the naked peak they wan, 
Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
The noon had long been passed before 
They gained the height of Lammermoor ; 
Thence winding down the northern way, 
Before them, at the close of day. 
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay. 



No summons calls them to the tower, 

To spend the hospitable hour. 

To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone ; 



CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 113 

His cautious dame, in bower alone, 

Dreaded her castle to unclose. 

So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
On through the hamlet as they paced, 
Before a porch, whose front was graced 
With bush and flagon trimly placed, 

Lord Marmion drew his rein : 
The village inn seemed large, though rude; 
Its cheerful fire and hearty food 
Might well relieve his train. 

Down from their seats the horsemen sprung. 

With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; 

They bind their horses to the stall. 

For forage, food, and firing call, ♦ 

And various clamor fills the hall : 

Weighing the labor with the cost, 

Toils everywhere the bustling host. 



Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze. 
Through the rude hostel might you gaze ; 
Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, 
The rafters of the sooty roof 

Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, 
And gammons of the tusky boar, 

And savory haunch of deer. 
The chimney arch projected wide ; 
Above, around it, and beside, 

Were tools for housewives' hand ; 
Nor wanted, in that martial day. 
The implements of Scottish fray. 

The buckler, lance, and brand. 
Beneath its shade, the place of state, 
On oaken settle Marmion sate, 
8 



114 



MARMION. 



CANTO III. 



And viewed around the blazing hearth 
His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 
Whom with brown alo, in jolly tide, 
From ancient vessels ranged aside, 
Full actively their host supplied. 









^S^ '^^^ • *x 'J*'^ ' 







Theirs was the glee of martial breast. 
And laughter theirs at little jest ; 
And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid. 
And mingle in the mirth they made ; 
For though, with men of high degree, 
The proudest of the proud was he, 
Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
They love a captain to obey. 



CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 115 

Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May; 
With open hand, and brow as free, 
Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
Ever the lirst to scale a tower, 
As venturous in a lady's bower: — 
Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
From India's hres to Zembla's frost. 



Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 

Right opposite the Palmer stood; 
His thin dark visage seen but half. 

Half hidden by his hood. 
Still hxed on Harm ion was his look, 
Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 

Strove by a frown to quell ; 
But not for that, though more than once 
Full met their stern encountering glance, 

The Palmer's visage fell. 

VI. 

By (its less frequent from the crowd 
Was heard the burst of laughter loud; 
For still, as squire and archer stared 
On that dark face and matted beard, 

Their glee and game declined. 
All gazed at length in silence drear, 
Unbrokc, save when in comrade's ear 
Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, 

Thus whispered forth his mind : — 
" Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 

How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 
Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light 

Glances beneath his cowl ! 
Full on our Lord he sets his eye ; 



116 MARMION. CANTO iii. 

For his best palfrey, would not I 
Endure that sullen scowl." 



But Marmion, as to chase the awe 

Which thus had quelled their hearts, who saw 

The ever-varying fire-light show 

That figure stern and face of woe, 

Now called upon a squire : — 
" Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay, 
To speed the lingering night away ? 

We slumber by the fire." — 

VIII. 

" So please you," thus the youth rejoined, 
" Our choicest minstrel 's left behind. 
Ill may we hope to please your ear, 
Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. 
The harp full deftly can he strike. 
And wake the lover's lute alike ; 
To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 
Sings livelier from a spring-tido bush. 
No nightingale her lovelorn tune 
More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
Woe to the cause, whate'er it be. 
Detains from us his melody, 
Lavished on rocks, and billows stern, 
Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. 
Now must I venture as I may. 
To sing his favorite roundelay." 

IX. 

A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had. 
The air he chose was wild and sad ; 
Such have I heard, in Scottish land, 



CANTO III. 



THE HOSTEL, OB INN. 



117 



Rise from the busy harvest band, 
When falls before the mountaineer, 
On Lowland plains, the ripened ear. 
Now one shrill voice the notes prolong. 
Now a wild chorus swells the song : 
Oft have I listened, and stood still, 
As it came softened up the hill, 




And deemed it the lament of men 
Who languished for their native glen ; 
And thought how sad would be such sound. 
On Susquehanna's swampy ground, 
Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake, 
Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 
Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain. 
Recalled fair Scotland's hills affain ! 



118 MAEMION. CANTO iii. 



SONG. 

Where sliall the lover rest, 

Whom the fates sever 
From his true maiden's breast, 

Parted forever ? 
Where, through groves deep and hig'li, 

Sounds the far billow. 
Where early violets die, 

Under the willow. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro^ ^c. Soft shall be his pillow. 

There, through the summer day, 

Cool streams are laving ; 
There, while the tempests sway. 

Scarce arc boughs waving ; 
There, thy rest shalt thou take. 

Parted forever. 
Never again to wake. 

Never, never ! 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, ^c. Never, never! 

XI. 

Where shall the traitor rest, 

lie, the deceiver, 
Who could win maiden's breast. 

Ruin, and leave lier ? 
In the lost battle, 

Borne down by the flying, 



CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 119 

Where mingles war's rattle 
With groans of the dying. 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro^ ^c. There shall he be lying. 

Her wing shall the eagle flap 

O'er the false-hearted ; 
His warm blood the wolf shall lap, 

Ere life be parted. 
Shame and dishonor sit 

By his grave ever ; 
Blessing shall hallow it, — 

Never, never ! 

CHORUS. 

Eleu loro, ^c. Never, O never ! 

XII. 

It ceased, the melancholy sound ; 
And silence sunk on all around. 
The air was sad ; but sadder still 

It fell on Marmion's ear, 
And plained as if disgrace and ill. 

And shameful death, were near. 
He drew his mantle past his face. 

Between it and the band. 
And rested with his head a space, 

Reclining on his hand. 
His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween, 
That, could their import liavc been seen, 
The meanest groom in all the hall, 
That e'er tied courser to a stall. 
Would scarce have wished to be their prey. 
For Lutterward and Fontenave. 



120 MARMION. canto hi. 



XIII. 

High minds, of native pride and force, 
Most deeply feel thy pangs. Remorse ! 
Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, 
Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 
Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
Their minds to bear the ^vounds they feel, 
Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
Of civil conflict in the heart. 
For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, 
And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said, — 
'• Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, 
Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung, 
Such as in nunneries they toll 
For some departing sister's soul ? 

Say, what may this portend ? " — 
Then first the Palmer silence broke, — 
The livelong day he had not spoke, — 

" The death of a dear friend." 

XIV. 

Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
Ne'er changed in worst extremity ; 
Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, 
Even from his King, a haughty look ; 
Whose accent of command controlled. 
In camps, the boldest of the bold — 
Thought, look, and utterance failed him now, 
Fall'n was his glance, and flushed his brow : 

For either in the tone. 
Or something in the Palmer's look, 
So full upon his conscience strook. 

That answer he found none. 
Thus oft it haps, that when within 



CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OB INN. 121 

They shrink at sense of secret sin, 

A feather daunts the brave ; 
A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, 
And proudest princes veil their eyes 

Before their meanest slave. 

XV. 

Well might he falter ! — By his aid 

Was Constance Beverley betrayed. 

Not that he augured of the doom, 

Which on the living closed the tonili : 

But, tired to hear the desperate maid 

Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid ; 

And wroth, because, in wild despair, 

She practised on the life of Clare : 

Its fugitive the Church he gave. 

Though not a victim, but a slave ; 

And deemed restraint in convent strange 

Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge. 

Himself, proud Henry's favorite peer. 

Held Romish thunders idle fear. 

Secure his pardon he might hold, 

For some slight mulct of penance-gold. 

Thus judging, he gave secret way. 

When the stern priests surprised their prey. 

His train but deemed the favorite page 

Was left behind, to spare his age ; 

Or other if they deemed, none dared 

To mutter what he thought and heard: 

Woe to the vassal, who durst pry 

Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 



His conscience slept — he deemed her well. 
And safe secured in distant cell ; 



122 MARMION. canto hi. 

But, wakened by her favorite lay, 
And that strange Pahuer's boding say, 
That fell so ominous and drear, 
Full on the object of his fear. 
To aid remorse's venomed throes. 
Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose ; 
And Constance, late betrayed and scorned. 
All lovely on his soul returned ; 
Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 
She left her convent's peaceful wall. 
Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute. 
Dreading alike escape, pursuit. 
Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 

XVII. 

" Alas ! " he thought, " how changed that mien ! 

How changed these timid looks have been, 

Since years of guilt, and of disguise. 

Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes ! 

No more of virgin terror speaks 

The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 

Fierce, and unfeminine, are there. 

Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 

And I the cause — for whom were given 

Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 

Would," thought he, as the picture grows, 

" I on its stalk had left the rose ! 

Oh, why should man's success remove 

The very charms that wake his love ! — 

Her convent's peaceful solitude 

Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 

And, pent within the narrow cell. 

How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 

How brook the stern monastic laws ! 



CANTO III. 



THE HOSTEL. OR INN. 



123 



Tlie penance how — and 1 the cause ! — 
Vigil, and scourge — perchance even worse ! " 
And twice he rose to cry, " To horse ! " 
And twice his Sovereign's mandate came. 
Like damp upon a kindhng flame ; 
And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 
She should be safe, though not at large ? 
They durst not, for their island, shred 
One golden rino-let from her head." 



While thus in Marmion's bosom strove 

Repentance and reviving love, 

Like whirlwinds, whose contending sway 



^*«LW, 




I 've seen Loch Vennachar obey, 

Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, 

And, talkative, took up the word : 

" Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 



124 MABMION. CANTO iii. 

From Scotland's simple land away, 

To visit realms afar. 
Full often leai-n the art to know 
Of future weal, or future woe, 
By word, or sign, or star ; 
Yet might a knight his fortune hear, 
If, knight-like, he despises fear. 
Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 
Aright our hamlet legend told." — 
These broken words the menials move, — 
For marvels still the vulgar love, — 
And, Marmion giving license cold, 
His tale the host thus gladly told : — 

XIX. 
THE host's tale. 

''A Clerk could tell what years have flown 

Since Alexander filled our throne, — 

Tliird monarch of that warlike name, — 

And eke the time when here he came 

To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 

A braver never drew a sword ; 

A wiser never, at the hour 

Of midnight, spoke the word of power : 

The same, whom ancient records call 

The founder of tlie Goblin-Hall. 

I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay 

Oavc you that cavern to survey. 

Of lofty roof, and ample size, 

Beneath the castle deep it lies : 

To hew the livinu- roek jirofouud. 

The floor to pave, tlie ai-eli to round. 

There never toiled a mortal arm. 

It all was wrought by word and charm ; 

And I have heard my grandsire say, 



CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 125 

That the wild clamor and affray 
Of those dread artisans of hell, 
Who labored under Hugo's spell, 
Sounded as loud as ocean's war. 
Among the caverns of Dunbar. 

XX. 

" The King Lord Gifford's castle sought. 
Deep laboring with uncertain thought ; 
Even then he mustered all his host. 
To meet upon the western coast : 
For Norse and Danisli galleys plied 
' Their oars within the Frith of Clyde. 
There floated Haco's banner trim. 
Above Norweyan warriors grim, 
Savage of heart, and large of limb ; 
Threatening both continent and isle, 
Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. 
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground, 
Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 
And tarried not his garb to change, 
But, in his wizard habit strange. 
Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight ; 
His mantle lined with fox-skins white ; 
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 
A pointed cap, such as of yore 
Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore : 
His shoes were marked with cross and spell, 
Upon his breast a pentacle ; 
His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 
Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin. 
Bore many a planetary sign. 
Combust, and retrograde, and trine ; 
And in his hand he held prepared, 
A naked sword without a guard. 



126 MARMION. canto iil 



XXI. 

" Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
Had marked strange lines upon liis face ; 
Vigil and fast had worn him grim, 
His eyesight dazzled seemed and dim, 
As one unused to upper day ; 
Even his own menials with dismay 
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, 
In his unwonted wild attii-e ; 
Unwonted, for traditions run, 
He seldom thus beheld the sun. — 
' I know,' he said, — his voice was hoarse, 
And broken seemed its hollow force, — 
' I know the cause, although untold. 
Why the King seeks his vassal's hold : 
Vainly from me my liege Avould know 
His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
But yet, if strong his arm and heart, 
His courage may do more than art. 



XXII. 

" ' Of middle air the demons proud, 
Who ride upon the racking cloud. 
Can read, in fixed or wandering star, 
The issue of events afar ; 
But still their sullen aid Avithhold, 
Save when by mightier force controlled. 
Such late I summoned to my hall ; 
And though so })Otent was the call, 
That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
I deemed a refuge from the spell, 
Yet, obstinate in silence still, 
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 



CANTO III. TEE HOSTEL, OR INN. 127 

But thou, — who little know'st thy might 

As born upon that blessed night 

When yawning graves, and dying groan. 

Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown, — 

With untaught valor shalt compel 

Response denied to magic spell.' — 

' Gramercy,' quoth our Monarch free, 

' Place him but front to front with me, 

And, by this good and honored brand, 

The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand, 

Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide, 

The demon shall a buffet bide.' — 

His bearing bold the wizard viewed, 

And thus, well pleased, his speech renewed : — 

' There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark : 

Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark. 

The rampart seek, whose circling crown 

Crests the ascent of yonder down : 

A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 

There halt, and tliere thy bugle wind, 

And trust thine elfin foe to see. 

In guise of thy worst enemy : 

Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — 

Upon him ! and Saint George to speed ! 

If he go down, thou soon shalt know 

Whate'er these airy sprites can show : — 

If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 

I am no warrant for thy life.' 

XXIII. 

"Soon as the midnight bell did ring, 
Alone, and armed, forth rode the King 
To that old camp's deserted round : 
Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound 
Left hand the town, — the Pictish race. 



128 MARMION. canto hi. 

The trench, long since, in blood did trace ; 
The moor aronnd is brown and bare. 
The space within is green and fair. 
The spot our village children know, 
For there the earliest wild-flowers grow ; 
But woe betide the wandering wight. 
That treads its circle in the night! 
The breadth across, a bowshot clear. 
Gives ample space for full career ; 
Opposed to the four points of heaven. 
By four deep gaps arc entrance given. 
The southernmost our Monarch past, 
Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 
And on the north, within the ring. 
Appeared the form of England's King, 
Who then a thousand leagues afar. 
In Palestine waged holy war: 
Yet arms like England's did he wield, 
Alike the leopards in the shield. 
Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
The rider's length of limb the same. 
Long afterwards did Scotland know. 
Fell Edward was her deadliest foe. 

XXIV. 

"The vision made our Monarch start, 
But soon he manned his noble heart, 
And in the first career they ran, 
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man; 
Yet did a splinter of his lance 
Through Alexander's visor glance, 
And razed the skin — a puny wound. 
The King, light leaping to the ground, 
With naked blade his i)hantom foe 
Compelled the future war to show. 



CANTO III. 



THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 



129 



Of Largs he saw the ghirious plain, 
Where still gigantic bones remain, 

Memorial of the Danish war ; 
Himself he saw, amid the field. 
On high his brandished war-axe wield. 

And strike proud Haco from his car, 




While all around the shadowy Kings 
Denmark's grim ravens cowered their wings. 
'T is said, that, in that awful night. 
Remoter visions met his sight, 
Foreshowing future conquest far, 
When our sons' sons wage northern war; 

9 



130 MABMION. canto hi, 

A royal city, tower and spire, 
Reddened the midniglit sky with fire, 
And shouting crews her navy bore. 
Triumphant, to the victor shore. 
8uch signs may learned clerks explain. 
They i)ass the wit of siniph; swain. 

XXV. 

"The joyful King turned home again, 
Headed his host, and quelled the Dane; 
But yearly, when returned the night 
Of his strange combat with the sprite. 

His wound must bleed and smart; 
Lord Gifford then would gibing say, 
' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 

The penance of your start.' 
I-iong since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
King Alexander hlls his grave. 

Our Lady give him rest ! 
Yet still the knightly spear and sliield 
The Elfin Warrior doth wield. 

Upon the bi'own hill's breast ; 
And many a knight hath proved his chance, 
In the charmed ring to break a lance. 

But all have foully sped ; 
Save two, as legends tell, and they 
Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay. — 

Gentles, my tale is said." 



The quaighs were deep, the liquor strong, 
And on the tale the yeoman-thi'ong 
Had made a comment sage and long. 

But Marmion gave a sign : 
And, with their lord, the squires retire ; 



CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 133 

The rest around the hostel lire, 

Their drowsy limbs recline : 
For pillow, underneath each head, 
The quiver and the targe were laid. 
Deep slumbering on the hostel floor. 
Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore : 
The dying flame, in fitful change. 
Threw on the group its shadows strange. 

XXVII. 

Apart, and nestling in the hay, 
Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay; 
Scarce, by the pale moonlight, Avere seen 
The foldings of his mantle green : 
Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream. 
Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
Of hawk or hound, or ring or glove, 
Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
A cautious tread his slumber broke, 
And, close beside him, when he woke. 
In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, 
Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; 
But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
His master Marmion's voice he knew. 

XXVIII. 

— "Fitz-Eustace! rise, — I cannot rest; 
Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, 
And graver thoughts have chafed my mood: 
The air must cool my feverish blood; 
And fain would I ride forth, to see 
•The scene of elfin cliivalry. 
Arise, and saddle me my steed; 
And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; 



134 MARMION. canto hi. 

I would not, that the prating knaves 
Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, 
That I could credit such a tale." — 
Then softly down the steps they slid, 
Eustace the stable door undid. 
And, darkling, Marmion's steed arrayed. 
While, whispering, thus the Baron said : 

XXIX. 

" Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell, 
That on the hour when 1 was born. 

Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 

Down from his steed of marble fell, 
A weary wight forlorn ? 

The flattering chaplains all agreed. 

The champion left his steed to me. 

I would, the omen's truth to show, 

That I could meet this Elfin Foe! 

Blithe would! battle, for the right 

To ask one question at the sprite : — 

Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be. 

An empty race, by fount or sea. 

To dashing waters dance and sing, 

Or round the green oak wheel their ring." 

Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode. 

And from the hostel slowly rode. 

XXX. 

Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad. 
And marked him pace the village road. 
And listened to his horse's tramp, 

Till, by the lessening sound, 
He judged that of the Pictish camp 
Lord Marmion songht the round. 
Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes, 



CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OB INN. 135 

That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
For gospel, what the Churcii believed, — 

Should, stirred by idle tale, 
Ride forth in silence of the night. 
As hoping half to meet a sprite, 

Arrayed in plate and mail. 
For little did Fitz-Eustace know. 
That passions, in contending flow, 

Unfix the strongest mind ; 
Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 
We welcome fond credulity, 

Guide confident, though blind. 

XXXI. 

Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
But, patient, waited till he heard. 
At distance, pricked to utmost speed, 
The foot-tramp of a flying steed. 

Come town-ward rushing on ; 
First, dead, as if on turf it trode, 
Then, clattering on the village road, — 
In other pace than forth he yode. 

Returned Lord Marmion. 
Down hastily he sprung from scllc, 
And, in his haste, wellnigh he fell ; 
To the squire's hand the rein he threw, 
And spoke no word as he withdrew : 
But yet the moonlight did betray. 
The falcon-crest was soiled with clay ; 
And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see, 
By stains upon the chai'ger's knee, 
And liis left side, that on the moor 
He had not kept his footing sure. 
Long musino; on these wondrous sitrns. 



136 



MARMION. 



CANTO III. 



At length to rest the squire reclines, 
Broken and short ; for still, between, 
Would dreams of terror intervene : 
Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
The first notes of the morning lark. 




CANTO FOURTH 




An ancient Minstrel sagely said, 

"Where is the life which late we letl?" 

That motley clown in Arden wood, 

Whom humorous Jacques with envy \dewed, 

Not even that clown could amplify, 

On this trite text, so long as I. 

Eleven years we now may tell, 

Since we have known each other well ; 

Since, riding side by side, our hand 

First drew the voluntary brand ; 

And sure, through many a varied scene, 

Unkindness never came between. 

Away these winged years have flown. 

To join the mass of ages gone ; 

And though deep marked, like all below, 

With checkered shades of joy and woe ; 

Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged. 



/h 



eK^^ 



INTRODUCTION TO 



Marked cities lost, and empires changed, 
While here, at home, my narrower ken 
Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 
Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears 
Fevered the progress of these years, 
Yet now, days, weeks, and months but seem 
The recollection of a dream, 
So still we glide down to the sea 
Of fathomless eternity. 

Even now it scarcely seems a day, 
Since first I tuned this idle lay ; 
A task so often thrown aside, 
When leisure graver cares denied. 
That now, November's dreary gale. 
Whose voice inspired my opening tale. 
That same November gale once more 
Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore. 
Their vexed boughs streaming to the sky. 
Once more our naked birches sigh. 
And Blackhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, 
Have donned their wintry shrouds again : 
And mountain dark, and flooded mead, 
Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
Earlier than wont along the sky, 
Mixed with the rack, the snow mists fly ; 
The shepherd who, in summer sun, 
Had something of our envy won. 
As thou with pencil, I with pen. 
The features traced of hill and glen ; — 
He who, outstretched the livelong day, 



mi 




.^ 



At ease among the heath-flowers lay, 
Viewed the light clouds with vacant look, 
Or slumbered o'er his tattered book, 
Or idly busied him to guide 
His angle o'er the lessened tide ; — 
At midnight now, the snowy plain 
Finds sterner labor for the swain. 

When red hath set the beamless sun, 
Through heavy vapors dank and dun ; 
When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, 
Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
The sounds that drive Avild deer, and fox, 
To shelter in the brake and rocks, 
Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
To dismal and to dangerous task. 
Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain. 
The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
Till, dark above, and white below, 
Decided drives the flaky snow, 
And forth the hardy swain must go. 
Long, with dejected look and whine. 
To leave the hearth his dogs rei^ine ; 
Whistling and cheering them to aid, 
Around his back he wreathes the plaid : 
His flock he gathers, and he guides, 
To open downs, and mountain-sides, 
Where fiercest though the tempest blow, 
Least deeply lies the drift below. 
The blast, that whistles o'er the fells, 




IM'liODK HON TO 



^M. 



'^\ 



r. 



n? 



,^ 



^l 



<^^QJ^ 



Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
Oft he looks back, wliile streaming far, 
His cottage window seems a star, — 
Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
Turns patient to the blast again, 
And, facing to the tempest's sweep, 
Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep. 
If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 
Benumbing death is in the gale : 
His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 
Close to the hut, no more his own, 
Close to the aid he sought in vain, 
The morn may find the stift'ened swain : 
The widow sees, at dawning pale, 
His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 
And, close beside him, in the snow. 
Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 
Couches upon his master's breast, 
And licks his cheek to break his rest. 



"Who envies now the shejjherd's lot. 
His healthy fare, his rural cot, 
His summer couch by greenwood tree. 
His rustic kirn's loud revelry. 
His native hill-notes, tuned on high, 
To Marion of the blithesome eye ; 
His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed, 
And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 

Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
or liuman life the varvinff scene 1 







Our youthful sumnaer oft we see 
Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
AVhile the dark storm reserves its rage, 
Against the winter of our age : 
As he, the ancient Chief of Trov, 
His manhood spent in peace and joy ; 
But Grecian fires, and Ljud alarms, 
Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 
Then happy those, since each nuist drain 
His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
Then happy those, beloved of Heaven, 
To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
AVhose lenient sorrows find relief. 
Whose joys are chastened bj^ their grief. 
And such a lot, my Skene, was thine, 
When thou, of late, wert doomed to twine 
Just when thy bridal hour was by — 
The cypress with the myrtle tie. 
Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled. 
And blessed the union of his child. 
When love must change its joyous cheer. 
And wipe affection's filial tear. 
Nor did the actions next his end, 
Speak more the father than the friend : 
Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 
The tribute to his Minstrel's shade ; 
The tale of fi-iendship scarce was told, 
Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 
Far may we search before we find 
A heart so manly and so kind ! 
But not aiound hi-^ honored uiu 





IMIWDICTIOX TO 



Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
The thousand eyes his care had dried, 
Pour at his name a bitter tide ; 
And frequent falls the grateful dew 
For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
If mortal charity dare claim 
The Almighty's attributed name, 
Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
" The widow's shield, the orphan's stay." 
Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; 
For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
" Thy father's friend forget thou not : " 
And grateful title may I plead, 
For many a kindly word and deed, 
To bring my tribute to his grave : — 
'Tis little — but 'tis all I Jiave. 



To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
Recalls our summer walks again ; 
When, doing naught, — and, to speak true, 
Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
The wild unbounded hills we ranged, 
While oft our talk its topic changed. 
And, desultorj^ as our way, 
Ranged, iinconfined, from grave to gay. 
Even when it flagged, as oft will chance, 
No eff"ort made to break its trance, 
We could right pleasantly pursue 
Our sports in social silence too ; 



l^n^ 




^Mf 



CANTO FOURTH. 145 

The blighted oak's fantastic spray ; 
I spelling o'er with much delight, 
The legend of that antique knight, 
Tirante by name, ycleped the White. 
At either's feet a trusty squire, 
;^^b^5=AT Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire, 
Jealous, each other's motions viewed. 
And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. 
The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
The stream was liveh', but not loud ; 
From the white thorn the May-flower shed 
Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
Not Ariel lived more merrily 
Under the blossomed bough, than we. 



And blithesome nights, too, have been ours, 
When Winter stript the summer's bowers. 
Careless we heard, what now I hear, 
The wild blast sighing deep and drear. 
When fires were bright, and lamps beamed gay, 
And ladies tuned the lovely lav ; 
And he was held a laggard soul. 
Who shunned to quafl' the sparkling bowl. 
Then he, whose absence we deplore, 
Wlio breathes the gales of Devon's shore, 
The longer missed, bewailed the more ; 

And thou, and I, and dear-loved E , 

And one whose name I may not say, — 
For not Mimosa's tender tree 
Shrinks sooner from the touch than he, — 
In merry chorus well oomliined. 




With laughter drowned the wliistling wind. 

Mirth was within ; and Cai'e without 

Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 

Not but amid the T)Uxom scene 

Some grave discourse might intervene — 

Of the good horse that bore him best, 

His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest : 

For, like mad Tom's, our chiefest care 

Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 

Such nights we 've had ; and, though the game 

Of manhood be more sober tame, 

And though the field-day or the drill 

Seem less important now, j'et still 

Such may we hope to share again. 

The sprightly thought inspires my strain ! 

And mark how, like a horseman true, 

Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. 



=^2Ldf- jli 





THE CAMP. 



Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
The first notes of the merry lark. 
The lark sang- shrill, the cock he crew, 
And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 
And with their light and lively call, 
Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 

Whistling they came, and free of heart, 
But soon their mood was changed ; 

Complaint was heard on every part. 
Of something disarranged. 
Some clamored loud for armor lost ; 



148 JLII^J/IOX. CA 

Some brawled aud wrangled with the host ; 

•" By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear. 

That some false Seot has stolen mv si)earl" 

Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire, 

Found his steed wet with sweat and mire ; 

Although the rated horseboy sware. 

List night he dressed him sleek and fair. 

Whilt^ chafed the inipatieut squire like thunder, 

Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 

" Hel}>, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! 

Bevis lies dying in his stall : 

To Marmion who the plight dare tell. 

Of the good steed he loves so well?" — 

Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 

The charger panting on Jiis straw; 

Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, — 

'• What else but evil could betide, 

With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? 

Better we had through mire and bush 

Been lantern-led bv Friar Rush." 



Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessed, 

Nor wholly nnderstood. 
His comrades' clamorous plaints suppressed ; 

He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 
Him, ere he issued forth, he sought, 
And found deej) plunged in gloomy thought, 

And did his tale disjday 
Simply, as if he knew of nought 
To cause such disarray. 
Lord Marmiou gave attention cold. 
Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — 
Passed them as accidents of course. 
And bade his clarions sound to horse. 



CANTO IV. THE CAMP. 149 



III. 
Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
Had reckoned with their Scottish host ; 
And, as the charge he cast and paid, 
" 111 thou deservest thy hire," he said ; 
"Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight? 
Fairies have ridden him all the night. 

And left him in a foam ! 
I trust, that soon a conjuring band. 
With English cross, and blazing brand, 
Shall drive the devils from this land, 

To their infernal home : 
For in this haunted den, I trow, 
All night they trampled to and fro." — 
The laughing host looked on the hire, — 
" Gramercy, gentle southern squire. 
And if thou comest among the rest, 
With Scottish broadsword to be blest. 
Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow. 
And short the pang to undergo." 
Here stayed their talk, — for Marmion 
Gave now the signal to set on. 
The Palmer showing forth the way, 
They journeyed all the morning-day. 



IV. 

The green-sward way was smooth and good. 

Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood; 

A forest glade, which, varying still, 

Here gave a view of dale and hill, 

There narrower closed, till overhead 

A vaulted screen the l)ranches made. 

"A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said; 



150 



MARMION. 



CANTO IV. 




" Such as where errant-knights might see 
Adventures of high chivahy ; 
Might meet some damsel flying fast, 
With hair unbound, and looks aghast; 
And smooth and level course were here, 
In her defence to break a spear. 
Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; 
And oft, in such, the story tells. 
The damsel kind, from danger freed. 
Did grateful pay her champion's meed." 
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind ; 
Perchance to show his lore designed ; 

For Eustace much had pored 
Upon a huge romantic tome. 
In the hall-Avindow of his home, 
Imprinted at the antique dome 



CANTO IV. THE CAMP. 151 

Of Caxtoii, or dc Worde. 
Therefore, he spoke, — but spoke in vain. 
For Marmion answered nought again. 

V. 

Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill, 
In notes prolonged by wood and hill. 

Were heard to echo far ; 
Each ready archer grasped his bow, 
But by the flourish soon they know, 

They breathed no point of war. 
Yet cautious, as in foeman's land. 
Lord Marmion's order speeds the band, 

Some opener ground to gain ; 
And scarce a furlong had they rode, 
When thinner trees, receding, showed 

A little woodland plain. 
Just in that advantageous glade. 
The halting troop a line had made. 
As forth from the opposing shade 

Issued a gallant train. 



First came the trumpets, at whose clang 
So late the forest echoes rang ; 
On prancing steeds they forward pressed, 
Witli scarlet mantle, azure vest; 
Each at his trump a banner wore, 
Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : 
Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Rothsay, came, 
In painted tabards, proudly showing 
Gules, Argent, Or, and Azure glowing. 

Attendant on a King-at-arms, 
Whose hand the armorial truncheon held, 



152 MARMIOK canto iv. 

That feudal strife had often quelled, 
When wildest its alarms. 

VII. 

He was a man of middle aire ; 
In aspect manly, grave, and sage, 

As on King's errand come ; 
But in the glances of his eye, 
A penetrating, keen, and sly 

Expression found its home ; 
The flash of that satiric rage. 
Which, bursting on the early stage. 
Branded the vices of the age. 

And broke the keys of Rome. 
On milk-white palfrey fortli he paced ; 
His cap of maintenance was graced 

With the proud heron-plume. 
From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast. 

Silk housings swept the ground, 
With Scotland's arms, device, and crest, 

Embroidered round and round. 
The double trossure might you see, 

First by Acliaius borne. 
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, 

And gallant unicorn. 
So bright the King's armorial coat, 
That scarce the dazzled eye could note, 
In living colors, blazoned brave, 
The Lion, which his title gave ; 
A train, which well beseemed his state, 
But all unarmed, around him wait. 

Still is thy name in high account, 
And still tliy verse has charms, 

Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, 
Lord Lion King-at-arms ! 



CANTO IV. THE CA3IP. 155 



VIII. 

Down from his horse did Marmion spring, 

Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 

For well the stately Baron knew 

To him such courtesy was due, 

Whom royal James himself had crowned, 

And on his temples placed the round 

Of Scotland's ancient diadem : 
And wet his brow with hallowed wine, 
And on his finger given to shine 

The emblematic gem. 
Their mutual greetings duly made, 
The Lion thus his message said : — 
" Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore 
Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more, 
And strictly hath forbid resort 
From England to his royal Court ; 
Yet, for he knows Lord Marmion's name. 
And honors much his warlike fame, 
My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack 
Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 
And, by his order, I, your guide, 
Must lodging fit and fair provide, 
Till finds King James meet time to see 
The flower of English chivalrv." 



Though inly chafed at this delay, 
Lord Marmion Ijears it as he may. 
The Palmer, his mysterious guide. 
Beholding thus his place supplied, 

Sought to take leave in vain : 
Strict Avas the Lion-Kino-'s command. 



156 



MARMIOX. 



That none, wlio roilo in Marmiou's band, 
^^1¥^ Should si'voi- I'roiu the train : 

..:.^> -England has heiv enow of sjties 
In Lady Heron's witching eyes : " 
To ^larehmount thus, apart, he said, 
But fair pretext to Marmion made. 

*^ "^The right hand path they now deidine. 
And trace against the stream the Tync. 

X. 

At k^ngth up that wihl dale they wind. 
Where Criehtouu Castk' crowns the ban! 




For there the Lion's care assigned 
A lodging meet for ^larmiou's rank. 

That Castle rises on the steep 
Of the ureen vale of Tvnc : 



CANTO IV. THE CAMP. \:n 

And far beneath, where slow they creep, 
From pool to eddy, dark and deep, 
Where alders moist, and willows weep, 

You hear her streams repine. 
The towers in different ages rose ; 
Their various architecture shows 

The builders' various hands ; 
A mighty mass, that could oppose, 
When deadliest hatred fired its foes. 

The vengeful Douglas bands. 

XI. 

Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 

But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 

Thy turrets rude, and tottered keep, 
Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
Oft have I traced, within thy fort. 

Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, 

Scutcheons of honor, or pretence, 
Quartered in old armorial sort. 

Remains of rude magnificence. 
Nor wholly yet had time defaced 

Thy lordly gallery fair ; 
Nor yet the stony cord unbraced. 
Whose twisted knots, with roses laced, 

Adorn thy ruined stair. 
Still rises unimpaired below. 
The court-yard's graceful portico ; 
Above its cornice, row and row 

Of fair hewn facets richly show 
Their pointed diamond form, 

Though there but houseless cattle go, 
To shield them from the storm. 

And, shuddering, still may we explore, 
Where oft whilom were captives pent, 



158 MARMIOK caxto iv. 

The darkness of thy Massy More; 
Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, 
May trace, in nndulatmg line, 
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 

XII. 

Another aspect Crichtoun showed. 

As through its portal Marmi(jn rode ; 

But yet 't was melancholy state 

Received him at the outer gate ; 

For none were in the Castle then, 

But women, boys, or aged men. 

With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, 

To welcome noble Marmion, came ; 

Her son, a stripling twelve years old. 

Proffered the Baron's rein to hold; 

For each man that could draw a sword 

Had marched that morning with their lord. 

Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 

On Flodden, by his sovereign's side, 

Long may his Lady look in vain ! 

She ne'er shall see his gallant train 

Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean. 

'T was a brave race before the name 

Of hated Bothwell stained their fame. 



And here two days did Marmion rest. 
With every right that honor claims, 
Attended as the King's own guest ; — 
Such the command of Royal James, 
Who marshalled then his land's array. 
Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 
Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
Upon his gathering host should pry, 



CANTO IV. THE CAMP. I59 

Till full prepared was every band 

To march against the English land. 

Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 

Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit; 

And, in his turn, he knew to prize 

Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and Avise, — 

Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece, 

And policies of war and peace. 

XIV. 

It chanced, as fell the second night. 

That on the battlements they walked, 
And, by the slowly fading light, 

Of varying topics talked ; 
And, unaware, the Herald-bard 
Said, Marmion might his toil have spared 

In travelling so far ; 
For that a messenger from lieaven 
In vain to James had counsel given 

Against the English war : 
And, closer questioned, thus he told 
A tale, which chronicles of old 
In Scottish story have enrolled : — 



SIR DAVID LINDESAY S TALE. 

" Of all the palaces so fair, 
Built for the royal dwelling. 

In Scotland, far beyond compare 
Linlithgow is excelling ; 

And in its park, in jovial June, 

How sweet the merry linnet's tune, 
How blithe the blackbird's lay ! 

The wild buck bells from fernv brake. 



160 MABMION. 

The coot dives merry on the lake, 
The saddest heart might pleasure take 

To see all nature gay. 
But June is to our Sovereign dear 
The heaviest month in all the year: 
Too well his cause of grief you know, 
June saw his father's overthrow. 
Woe to the traitors, who could bring 
The princely boy against his King! 
Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
In offices as strict as Lent, 
King James's June is ever spent. 

XVI. 

"■ When last this ruthful month was come, 
And in Linlithgow's holy dome 

The King, as wont, was praying; 
While, for his royal father's soul. 
The chanters sung, the bells did toll, 

The Bishop mass was saying — 
For noAv the year brought round again 
The day the luckless King was slain — 
In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt. 
With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt. 

And eyes with sorrow streaming; 
Around him in their stalls of state. 
The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, 

Their banners o'er them beaming. 
I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 
Bedeafened with the jangling knell, 
Was watching where the sunbeams fell. 

Through the stained casement gleaming : 
But, while I marked Avhat next befell, 

It seemed as I were dreaming. 
Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight, 



CANTO IV, 



CANTO IV. 



THE CAMP. 



161 



In azure gown, with cincture white ; 
llis forehead bald, his head was bare, 
Down liung- at length his yellow hair. — 
Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, 
I pledge to you my knightly word, 




That, when 1 saw his placid grace, 

His simple majesty of face. 

His solemn bearing, and his pace 

So stately gliding on, — 
Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint 
So just an image of the Saint 
Who propped the Virgin in her faint, 

The loved Apostle John ! 



162 MARMION. 



CANTO IV. 



XVII. 

"He stepped before the Monarch's chair, 
And stood with rustic plainness there, 

And little reverence made ; 
Nor head, nor body, bowed, nor bent, 
But on the desk his arm he leant. 

And words like these he said, 
In a low voice, — but never tone 
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone:- 
'My mother sent me from afar. 
Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 

Woe waits on thine array ; 
If war thou wilt, of woman fair. 
Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
James Stuart, doubly warned, beware: 

God keep thee as he may ! ' — 
The wondering monarch seemed to seek 

For answer, and found none ; 
And when he raised his head to speak. 

The monitor was gone. 
The marshal and myself had cast 
To stop him as he outward passed ; 
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast. 

He vanished from our eyes. 
Like sunbeam on the billow cast. 

That glances but, and dies." 



XVIII. 

While Lindesay told his marvel strange. 

The twilight was so pale, 
He marked not Marmion's color change. 

While listening to the tale : 
But, after a suspended pause. 



CANTO IV. THE CAMP. 163 

The Baron spoke : " Of Nature's laws 
So strong I held the force, 

That never superhuman cause 
Could e'er control their course ; 
And, three days since, had judged your aim 
Was but to make your guest your game. 
But I have seen, since past the Tweed, 
What much has changed my sceptic creed. 
And made me credit aught." — He stayed, 
And seemed to wish his words unsaid: 
But, by that strong emotion pressed, 
Which prompts us to unload our breast. 

Even when discovery 's pain, 
To Lindesay did at length unfold 
The tale his village host had told. 

At Gifford, to his train. 
Nought of the Palmer says he there, 
And nought of Constance, or of Clare ; 
The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems 
To mention but as feverish dreams. 

XIX. 

" In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
My burning limbs, and couched my head : 

Fantastic thoughts returned ; 
And,, by their wild dominion led. 

My heart within me burned. 
So sore was the delirious goad, 
I took my steed, and forth I rode, 
And, as the moon shone bright and cold. 
Soon reached the camp upon the wold. 
The southern entrance I passed through, 
And halted, and my bugle blew. 
Methought an answer met my ear, — 
Yet was the blast s > low and drear, 



164 MAirUIOK 

So hollow, and so faintly blown, 
It might be echo of ni\' own. 

XX. 

" Thus judging, for a little sjnico 
I listened, ere I left the jdace ; 

But scarce could trust my eyes, 
Nor yet can think tliey serve me true. 
When sudden in the ring I view, 
In form distinct of shape and hue, 

A mounted cham])ion rise. — 
I 've fought, Lord-Lion, nuiny a day, 
Li single fight, and mixed affray. 
And ever, I myself may say. 

Have borne me as a knight; 
But when this unexi)ccted foe 
Seemed starting from the gulf below, — 
I care not though the truth 1 show, — 

I trembled with affright ; 
And as 1 ])laced in i-est my sj)car. 
My hand so shook for \ery fear, 

T scarce could couch it I'ight. 

XXI. 

" Why need my tongue the issue tell ? 
We ran our course, — my charger fell ; — 
What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? 

I rolled upon the plain. 
High o'er my head, with threatening hand 
The spectre shook his naked l)rand, — 

Yet did the worst i-emain : 
My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
Not opening hell itself could blast 

Their sight, like what I saw ! 
Full on his face the moonbeam strook ! — 



CANTO IV. 



CANTO IV. THE CAMP. 167 

A face could never be mistook ! 

I knew the stern vindictive look, 

And held my breath for awe. 

I saw the face of one who, fled 

To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 

I well believe the last ; 
For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 
A human warrior, with a glare 

So grimly and so ghast. 
Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; 
But when to good Saint George I prayed, — 
The first time e'er I asked his aid, — 

He plunged it in the sheath; 
And, on his courser mounting light, 
He seemed to vanish from my sight : 
The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night 

Sunk down upon the heath. — 

'Twere long to tell what cause I have 
To know his face that met me there. 

Called by his hatred from the grave, 
To cumber upper air : 
Dead or alive, good cause had he 
To be my mortal enemy." 

XXII. 

Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ; 
Then, learned in story, 'gan recount 

Such chance had happed of old, 
When once, near Norham, there did fight 
A spectre fell of fiendish might. 
In likeness of a Scottish knight, 

With Brian Bulmcr bold. 
And trained him nigh to disallow 
The aid of his baptismal vow. 
"And such a phantom, too, 'tis said, 



168 MARMIOX. canto iv. 

With Iliglilniul l)roads\vor(l, targe, and j.laid, 

And lingci-s red with gore, 
Is seen in Rothiemurcus ulade, 
Or where the sable j)ine-tr('('s sliadc 
Dark Tomantuul, and Aiu'linashiid, 

Dromouchty, or Gk'nniore. 
And yet, whatever 8ueli legends say, 
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay, 

On mountain, moor, or plain, 
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, 
True son of chivalry should hold 

These midnight terrors vain ; 
For seldom have such spirits power 
To harm, save in the evil hour. 
When guilt we meditate within. 
Or harl)or unrepented sin." — 
Lord ]Marmion turned him half aside, 
And twice to clear his voice he tried. 

Then pressed Sir David's hand,— - 
But nought, at length, in answer said ; 
And luu-e their further converse stayed, 

Each ordering that his band 
Should bowne them with the rising day, 
To Scotland's camp to take their way, — 

Such was the King's comnuind. 

XXIII. 

Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 
And I could trace each step they trode : 
Hill, lirook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone. 
Lies on the ])ath to me unknown. 
Much might it boast of storied lore ; 
But, passing such digression o'er. 
Suffice it that their route was laid 
Across the furzv hills of Braid. 



THE CAMP. 



169 



They passed the glen and scanty rill, 
And climbed the opposing bank, until 
They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 





Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 
Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 



Or listed, as I lay at rest, 

While rose on breezes thin, 
The murmur of the city crowd, 
And, from his steeple jangling loud. 

Saint Giles's mingling din. 
Now, from the summit to the plain, 
Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 



170 MAEMION. canto iv. 

And o'er the landscape as I look, 
Nought do I see unchanged remain, 

Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. 
To me they make a heavy moan, 

Of early friendships past and gone. 

XXV. 

But different far the change has been, 

Since Marmion, from the crown 
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 

Upon the bent so brown : 
Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 
Spread all the Borough-moor below, 

Upland, and dale, and down : — 
A thousand did I say ? I ween. 
Thousands on thousands there were seen, 
That checkered all the heath between 
The streamlet and the town ; 
In crossing ranks extending far. 
Forming a camp irregular ; 
Oft giving way, where still there stood 
Some relics of the old oak wood, 
That darkly huge did intervene. 
And tamed the glaring white with green : 
In these extended lines there lay 
A martial kingdom's vast array. 

XXVI, 

For from Hebudes, dark with rain, 

To eastern Lodon's fertile plain. 

And from the southern Redswire edge, 

To furthest Rosse's rocky ledge : 

From west to east, from south to north, 

Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 

Marmion might hear the mingled hum 



CANTO IV. THE CAMP. 171 

Of myriads up the mountain come ; 
The horses' tramp, and tinkling clank, 
Wliere chiefs reviewed their vassal rank, 

And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
And see the shifting lines advance, 
While frequent flashed from shield and lance, 

The sun's reflected raj. 

XXVII. 

Thin curling in the morning air. 

The wreaths of failing smoke declare 

To embers now the brands decayed. 

Where the night-watch their fires had made. 

They saw, slow rolling on the plain. 

Full many a baggage-cart and wain, 

And dire artillery's clumsy car, 

By sluggish oxen tugged to war; 

And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven, 

And culverins which France had given. 

Ill-omened gift! the guns remain 

The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 

XXVIII. 

Nor marked they less, where in the air 
A thousand streamers flaunted fair; 

Various in shape, device, and hue, 

Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square, 
Scroll, pennon, pencil, bandrol, there 

O'er the pavilions flew. 
Highest, and midmost, was descried 
The royal banner floating wide ; 

The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight, 
Pitched deeply in a massive stone, 
Which still in memory is shown. 



172 MABMION. c.\ 

Yet bent beneath the standard's weight, 
Whene'er the western wind unroUed 
With toil the huge and cumbrous fokl, 
And gave to view the dazzling held, 
Where in proud Scotland's royal shield, 
The ruddy lion ramped in gold. 

XXIX. 

Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright, — 
He viewed it with a chief's delight, — 

Until within him burned his heart, 

And lightning from his eye did i)art, 
As on the battle-day ; 

Such glance did falcon never dart. 
When stooping on his prey. 
'' Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said. 
Thy King from warfare to dissuade 

Were but a vain essay : 
For, by Saint George, were that host mine. 
Not power infernal nor divine 
Should once to peace my soul incline. 
Till I had dimmed their armor's shine 

In glorious battle-fray I " 
Answered the Bard, of milder mood : 
"Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good. 

That Kings would think withal, 
When peace and wealth their land has blessed, 
'Tis better to sit still at rest. 

Than rise, perchance to fall." 



Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed. 
For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 
When sated with the martial show 
That peopled all tlic plain below 



CANTO IV. 



THE CAMP. 



173 



The wandering eye could o'er it go, 
And mark the distant city glow 

With gloomy splendor red ; 
For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, 
That round her sable turrets flow. 

The morning: beams were shed. 




And tinged them with a lustre proud, 
Like that which streaks a thundercloud. 
Such dusky grandeur clothed the height, 
Where the huge Castle holds its state. 

And all the steep slope down. 
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky. 
Piled deep and massy, close and high. 



174 MARMION. canto iv. 

Mine own romantic town ! 
But northward far, with purer blaze, 
On Ochil mountains fell the rays, 
And as each heathy top they kissed, 
It gleamed a purple amethyst. 
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ; 
Here Preston-Bay, and Berwick-Law ; 

And, broad between them rolled, 
The gallant Frith the eye might note. 
Whose islands on its bosom float. 

Like emeralds chased in gold. 
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent; 
As if to give his rapture vent. 
The spur he to his charger lent. 

And raised his bridle hand, 
And making demi-volt in air. 
Cried, " Where 's the coward that would not dare 

To fight for such a land ! " 
The Lindesay smiled his joy to see ; 
Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. 

XXXI. 

Thus while they looked, a flourish proud. 
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud. 

And fife, and kettle-drum, 
And sackbut deep, and psaltery. 
And war-pipe with discordant cry. 
And cymbal clattering to the sky. 
Making wild music bold and high. 

Did up the mountain come ; 
The whilst the bells with distant chime 
Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 

And thus the Lindesay spoke : 
" Thus clamor still the war-notes when 
The King to mass his way has ta'en, 



CAXTO IV. THE CAMP. 175 

Or to Saint Katharine's of Sienne, 

Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
To you they speak of martial fame ; 
But me remind of peaceful game, 

When blither was their cheer. 
Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. 
In signal none his steed should spare, 
But strive which foremost might repair 

To the downfall of the deer. 

XXXII. 

" Nor less," he said, — " when looking forth, 
I view yon Empress of the North 

Sit on her hilly throne ; 
Her palace's imperial bowers. 
Her castle, proof to hostile powers. 
Her stately halls and holy towers — 

Nor less," he said, " I moan. 
To think what woe mischance may bring. 
And how these merry bells may ring 
The death-dirge of our gallant King; 

Or with the larum call 
The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 

Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. — 
But not for my presaging thought. 
Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought ! 

Lord Marmion, I say nay : 
God is the guider of the field, 
■ He breaks the champion's spear and shield, — 

But thou thyself shalt say. 
When joins yon host in deadly stowre, 
That England's dames must weep in bower, 

Her monks the death-mass sing; 
For never saw'st thou such a power 



176 



MABMIOX. 



CAXTO IV. 



Led on bv such a King." — 
And now, down winding to the phiin, 
The barriers of the camp they gain, 

And there they made a stay. — 
There stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
His hand o'er every Border string, 
And fit his harp the pomp to sing, 
Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, 

In the succeedinu- lav. 




CANTO FIFTH 







ISO 



INTRODUCTION TO 



When in his stall the impatient steed 
Is long condemned to rest and feed ; 
When from our snow-encircled home, 
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 
Since path is none, save that to bring 
The needful water from the spring ; 
"When wrinkled news-page, thrice conned o'ei-, 
Beguiles the dreary hour no more, 
And darkling politician, crossed, 
Inv'eighs against the lingering post, 
And answering housewife sore complains 
Of carriers' snow-impeded wains ; 
When such the country cheer, I come, 
Well pleased, to seek our city home ; 
For converse, and for books, to change 
The Forest's melancholy range, 
And welcome, with renewed delight, 
The busy day and social night. 





Not here need my desponding rhyme 
Lament the ravages of time, 
As erst by Newark's riven towers, 
And Ettrick stripped of forest bowers. 
True, Caledonia's Queen is changed, 
ince on her dusky summit ranged, 
Within its steepy limits pent, 
By bulwai-k. line, and battlement, 
And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
Guarded and garrisoned she stood, 
Denying entrance or resort. 
Save at each tall embattled port ; 



CANTO FIFTH. 



181 



Above whose arch, siispeiKled, hung 
Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
That long is gone, — but not so long, 
Since, early closed, and oijening late. 
Jealous revolved the studded gate, 
Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
A wicket churlishly supplied. 
Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, 
Dun-Edin ! Oh, how altered now, 
When safe amid thy mountain court 
Thou sitt'st, like Empress at her sport, 
And liberal, unconlined, and free, 
Flinging thy white arms to the sea, 
For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower, 
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower, 
Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 



/K 



Not she, the Championess of old. 
In Spensei-'s magic tale enrolled. 
She for the charmed spear renowned, 
Which forced each knight to kiss the ground, - 
Xot she more changed, when, placed at rest, 
What time she was Malbecco's guest, 
She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 
When from the corselet's grasp relieved, 
Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile. 
Erst hidden by the aventayle ; 
And down her shoulders graceful rolled 
Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 



^, 



\MC 



^<1^ 



182 



INTRODUCTION TO 



^ 



>. /-• 



>. 



ig>-' 



They -vvlio wliilom, in midnight fight, 
Had marvelled at her matchless might, 
No less her maiden charms approved, 
But looking liked, and liking loved. 
The sight could jealous pangs beguile, 
And charm Malbecco's cares a while ; 
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 
Foigot his Columbella's claims, 
And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
Tlie breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 
Nor durst light Paridell advance. 
Bold as he was, a looser glance. 
She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, 
Incomparable Britomart ! 

So thou, fair City ! disarrayed 
Of battled wall, and rampart's aid, 
As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
Than in that panoply of war. 
Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
Strength and security are flown ; 
Still as of yore, Queen of the North ! 
Still canst thou send thy children forth. 
Ne'er readier at alarm-bell's call 
Thy burghers rose to man thy wall. 
Than now, in danger, shall be thine, 
Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 
For fosse and turi-et proud to stand. 
Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
Thy thousands, trained to martial toil. 
Full red would stain their native soil, 



^^. 



<^y 



W 



CANTO FIFTH. 



183 



EiL' from thy mural crown there I'ell 
The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
And if it come, — as come it may, 
Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
Renowned for hospitable deed, 
That virtue much with Heaven may plead, 
In patriarchal times whose care 
Descending angels deigned to share ; 
That claim may wrestle blessings down 
On those who fight for The Good Town, 
Destined in every age to be 
Refuge of injured royalty; 
Since first, when conquering York arose, 
To Henry meek she gave repose. 
Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 
Great Bourbon's relics, sad she saw. 



.:^^ 



Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they rise. 
How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
Bodings, or true or false, to change, 
For Fiction's fair romantic range, 
( )r for Tradition's dubious light, 
That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
Dazzling alternately and dim. 
Her wavering lamp I 'd rather trim, 
Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see. 
Creation of my fantasy. 
Than gaze abroad on reeky fen. 
And make of mists invading men. — 
Who loves not more the night of June 
Than dull December's gloomy noon 1 









^^ 





1S4 INTROBVCTION TO 



The moonlight than tlio fog of frost I 
And can we sav, which choat:^ the most 



But who shall teach my harp to gain 
A sound of the romantic strain, 
"\A'liose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
Could win the royal Henry's ear. 
Famed Beauclerk called, for that he loved 
The minstrel, and his lay approved ? 
Who shall these lingering notes redeem. 
Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 
Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
Marie translated, Blondel sung? — 
Oh ! horn, Time's ravage to repair, 
Ami make the dying Muse thy care ; 
Wlio, when his scythe her hoary foe 
Was poising for the final hlow, 
The weapon from his hand could wring. 
And bieak his glass, and shear his wing, 
And bid, reviving in his strain. 
The gentle poet live again ; 
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
An unpedantic moral gay, 
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
On wings of unexpected wit ; 
In letters as in life approved, 
Example honored, and beloved, — 
Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
A lesson of thy magic art, 
To win at once the head and heart, — 



'1 
I 




CANTO FIFTH. 185 

At once to chann, iustruct, and mend, 
My guide, my pattern, and my friend! 



^\ rj ^ 



Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
Be long thy pleasing task, — but, oh ! 
No more by thy example teach, — 
What few can practise, all can preach, - 
With even patience to endure 
Lingering disease, and painful cure. 
And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
By mild antl manly fortitude. 
Enough, the lesson has been given : 
Forljid the repetition, Heaven ! 



/K 



Come listen, then ! for thou hast known, 
And loved the Minstrel's varying tone, 
Who, like his Border sires of old. 
Waked a wild measure rude and Ijold, 
Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, 
With wonder heard the northern strain. 
Come listen ! bold in thy applause. 
The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 
And, as the ancient art could stain 
Achievements on the storied pane, 
Irregularly traced and planned. 
But yet so glowing and so grand, — 
So shall he strive, in changeful hue, 
Field, feast, and combat, to renew. 
And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 
And all the pomp of chivalry. 



/; 



X 



'^n. 



r 



U-i 



m 



1^. 



m 







THE COURT. 



The train has loft the hilLs of Braid; 
The barrier guard have open made — 
So Lindesay bade — the palisade, 

That closed the tented ground ; 
Their men the warders backward drew, 
And carried pikes as they rode through, 

Into its ample bound. 
Fast ran the Scottish warriors there. 
Upon the Southern band to stare. 
And envy with their wonder rose. 
To see such well-appointed foes ; 



188 MABMION. canto v. 

Such length of shafts, siicli mighty bows, 
So huge, that many simply thought. 
But for a vaunt such weapons wrought ; 
And little deemed their force to feel, 
Through links of mail, and plates of steel, 
When rattling upon Flodden vale. 
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail, 

II. 
Nor less did Marmion's skilful view 
Glance every line and squadron through ; 
And much he marvelled one small land 
Could marshal forth such various band: 

For men-at-arms were here. 
Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 
Like iron towers for strengtli and weight, 
On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 

With battle-axe and spear. 
Young knights and squires, a lighter train, 
Practised their chargers on the plain. 
By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 

Each warlike feat to show, 
To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
And high curvet, that not in vain 
The sword sway might descend amain 

On foeman's casque below. 
He saw the hardy burghers there 
March armed, on foot, with faces bare, 

For vizor they wore none. 
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 
But burnished were their corselets bright, 
Their brigantines, and gorgets light. 

Like very silver shone. 
Long pikes they had for standing fight. 

Two-handed swords they wore, 



CANTO V. THE COURT. - 189 

And many wielded mace of weight, 
And bucklers bright they bore. 

III. 
On foot the yeoman too, but dressed 
In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest, 

With iron quilted well ; 
Each at his back — a slender store — 
His forty days' provision bore, 

As feudal statutes tell. 
His arms were halbert, axe, or spear, 
A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 

A dagger-knife, and brand. 
Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer, 
As loth to leave his cottage dear, 

And march to foreign strand ; 
Or musing, who would guide his steer. 

To till the fallow land. 
Yet deem not in liis thoughtful eye 
Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 

More dreadful far his ire, 
Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name, 
In eager mood to battle came, 
Their valor like light straw on flame, 

A fierce but fadino; fire. 



Not so the Borderer: — bred to war, 
He knew the battle's din afar, 

And joyed to hear it swell. 
His peaceful day was slothful ease ; 
Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please, 

Like the loud slogan yell. 
On active steed, with lance and blade. 
The light-armed pricker plied his trade, — 



190 M ARM ION. canto v. 

Let nobles fight for fame ; 
Let vassals follow where they lead, 
Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed ; 

But war 's the Borderer's game. 
Their gain, their glory, their delight, 
To sleep the day, maraud the night. 

O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
Joyful to fight they took their way. 
Scarce caring who might win the day. 

Their booty was secure. 
These, as Lord Marmion's train passed by. 
Looked on at first with careless eye, . 
Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know 
The form and force of English bow. 
But when they saw the Lord arrayed 
In splendid arms, and rich brocade. 
Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 

" Hist, Ringan ! scest thou there ! 
Canst guess which road they'll homeward ride? — 
Oh ! could we but on Border side. 
By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide, 

Beset a prize so fair ! 
That fangless Lion, too, their guide, 
Might chance to lose his glistering hide ; 
Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied, 

Could make a kirtle rare." 



Next, Marmion marked tlie Celtic race, 
Of different language, form, and face, 

A various race of man ; 
Just then the Chiefs their tribes arrayed, 
And wild and garish semblance made. 
The checkered trews, and belted plaid. 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 191 

And varying notes the war-pipes brayed, 

To every varying clan ; 
Wild through their red or sable hair 
Looked out their eyes with savage stare, 

On Marmion as he passed ; 
Their legs above the knee were bare ; 
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, 




And hardened to the blast ; 
Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
The hunted red-deer's undressed hide 
Their hairy buskins well supplied ; 
The graceful bonnet decked their head: 
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid : 
A broadsword of unwieldy length, 
A dagger proved for edge and strength, 

A studded targe they wore. 



192 MARMION. canto v, 

And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, oh ! 
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow. 

To that which England bore. 
The Isles-men carried at their backs 
The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
They raised a wild and wondering cry, 
As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
Loud were their clamoring- tongues, as when 
The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen. 
And, with their cries discordant mixed, 
Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. 

VI. 

Thus through the Scottish camp they passed. 

And reached the City gate at last, 

Where all around, a Avakeful guard, 

Armed burghers kept their watch and ward. 

Well had they cause of jealous fear. 

When lay encamped, in field so near. 

The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 

As through the bustling streets they go. 

All was alive with martial show : 

At every turn, with dinning clang, 

The armorer's anvil clashed and rang ; 

Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheel 

The bar that arms the charger's heel ; 

Or axe, or falchion, to the side 

Of jarring grindstone was api)lied. 

Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace, 

Through street, and lane, and market-place. 

Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 
While burghers, with important face. 

Described each new-come lord, 
Discussed his lineage, told his name. 
His followino- and his warlike fame. 



THE COURT. 193 

The Lion led to lodging meet, 

Which high o'erlooked the crowded street ; 

There must the Baron rest, 
Till past the hour of vesper tide, 
And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 

Such was the King's behest. 
Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 
A Ijanquet rich, and costly wines. 

To Marmion and his train ; 
And when the appointed hour succeeds, 
The Baron dons his peaceful weeds, 
And following Lindesay as he leads, 

The palace halls they gain. 

VII. 

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily, 
That night, with wassell, mirth, and glee : 
King James within her princely bower 
Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power. 
Summoned to spend the parting hour : 
For he had charged that his array 
Should southward march by break of day. 
Well loved that splendid monarch aye 

The banquet and the song, 
By day the tourney, and by night 
The merry dance, traced fast and light. 
The maskers quaint, the pageant bright. 

The revel loud and long. 
This feast outshone his banquets past ; 
It was his blithest, — and his last. 
The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay, 
Cast on the Court a dancing ray ; 
Here to the bar]) did minstrels sing; 
There ladies touched a softer string ; 
With long-eared cap, and motley vest, 
13 



194 



MABMION. 



CANTO V. 




The licensed fool retailed his jest ; 
His magic tricks the juggler plied ; 
At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 
While some, in close recess apart, 
Courted the ladies of tlicir Iieart, 

Nor courted them in vain ; 
For often, in the parting hour. 
Victorious Love asserts his power 

O'er coldness and disdain ; 
And flinty is her heart, can view 
To battle march a lover true — 
Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 

Nor own her share of pain. 



VIII. 



Through this mixed crowd of glee and game, 
The King to greet Lord Marmion came. 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 195 

While, reverent, all made room. 
An easy task it was, I trow, 
King James's manly form to know, 
Although, his courtesy to show, 
He doffed, to Marmion bending low. 

His broidered cap and plume. 
For royal was his garb and mien. 

His cloak, of crimson velvet piled. 

Trimmed with the fur of marten wild ; 
His vest of changeful satin sheen. 

The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
His gorgeous collar hung adown, 
Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown. 
The thistle brave, of old renown : 
His trusty blade, Toledo right. 
Descended from a baldric bright : 
White were his buskins, on the heel 
His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
Was buttoned with a ruby rare : 
And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen 
A prince of such a noble mien. 

IX. 

The Monarch's form was middle size ; 
For feat of strength, or exercise, 

Shaped in proportion fair ; 
And hazel was his eagle eye. 
And auburn of the darkest dye. 

His short curled beard and hair. 
Light was his footstep in the dance, 

And firm his stirrup in the lists ; 
And, oh ! he had that merry glance, 

That seldom lady's heart resists. 
Lightly from fair to fair he flew, 



196 MAEMION. 

And loved to plead, lament, and sue, — 
Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain. 
For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 

I said he joyed in banquet bower; 
But, 'mid his mirth, 't was often strange, 
How suddenly his cheer Avould change, 
His look o'ercast and lower. 
If, in a sudden turn, he felt 
The pressure of his iron belt. 
That bound his breast in penance pain, 
In memory of his father slain. 
Even so 'twas strange, how evermore, 
Soon as the passing pang was o'er. 
Forward he rushed, with double glee, 
Into the stream of revelry : 
Thus, dim-seen object of affright 
Startles the courser in his flight, 
And half he halts, half springs aside; 
But feels the quickening spur applied. 
And, straining on the tightened rein, 
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain. 

X. 

O'er James's heart, the courtiers say. 
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway: 

To Scotland's Court she came, 
To be a hostage for her lord, 
Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored, 
And with the King to make accord. 

Had sent his lovely dame. 
Nor to that lady free alone 
Did the gay King allegiance own; 

For the fair Queen of France 
Sent him a turquoise ring and glove. 
And charged him, as her knight and love, 



CANTO V. 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 197 

For her to break a lance ; 
And strike three strokes with Scottish brand, 
And march three miles on Southron land, 
And bid the banners of his band 

In English breezes dance. 
And thus, for France's Queen he drest 
His manly limbs in mailed vest ; 
And thus admitted English fair 
His inmost councils still to share ; 
And thus, for both, he madly planned 
The ruin of himself and land ! 

And yet, the sooth- to tell, 
Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen, 
Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen. 

From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's bower, 
All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour. 

XI. 

The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile, 

And weeps the weary day. 
The war against her native soil. 
Her monarch's risk in battle broil : — 
And in gay Holy-Rood, the while 
Dame Heron rises with a smile 

Upon the harp to play. 
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 

The strings her fingers flew ; 
And as she touched and tuned them all. 
Ever her bosom's rise and fall 
Was plainer given to view ; 
For, all for heat, was laid aside 
Her wimple, and her hood untied. 
And first she pitched her voice to sing, 
Then glanced her dark eye on the King, 



198 JIABMIOX. CANTO V. 

And then around the silent ring; 

And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say 

Her pretty oath, by Yea and Xay, 

She could not, would not, durst not play! 

At length, upon the harp, with glee. 

Mingled with arch simplicity, 

A soft, yet lively air, she rung. 

While thus the wily lady sung : — 



LOCHIX^'AR. 

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
And save liis good broadsword, he weapons had none. 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 

He stayed not for lirake, and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 

But ere he alighted at Xetherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Locliinvar. 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : 

Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, — 

For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, — 

" Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? " — 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 201 

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; — 
Love swells like the Sol way, but ebbs like its tide — 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar," 

The bride kissed the goblet : the knight took it up. 
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh. 
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
" Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'T were better by far, 

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung. 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung! 

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grasmes of the Netherby clan ; 

Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 



MAEMIOX. CANTO V. 



The monarch o'er the siren hung, 
And beat the measure as she sung ; 
And, pressing closer, and more near. 
He whispered praises in lier ear. 
In loud applause the courtiers vied ; 
And ladies Avinked, and spoke aside. 

The witching dame to Marmion threw 
A glance, where seemed to reign 

The pride that claims applauses due, 

And of her royal conquest too, 
A real or feigned disdain : 
Familiar Avas the look, and told, 
Marmion and she were friends of old. 
The King observed their meeting eyes, 
With something like displeased surprise ; 
For monarchs ill can rivals bi'ook. 
Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
Straight took he forth the parchment Ijroad, 
Which Marmion's high commission showed : 
" Our Borders sacked by many a raid, 
Our peaceful liege-men robbed," he said : 
" On day of truce our Warden slain. 
Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta'en — 
Unworthy Avere we here to reign, 
Should these for vengeance cry in vain ; 
Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, 
Our herald has to Henry borne." 

XIV. 

He paused, and led Avhere Douglas stood. 
And Avith stern eye the pageant viewed : 
I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 
Who coronet of Angus bore, 



CANTO V. 



THE COURT. 



203 



And, when his blood and heart were high, 
Did the third James in camp defy. 
And all his minions led to die 

On Lauder's dreary flat : 
Princes and favorites long grew tame, 
And trembled at the hoiuely name 

Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ; 
The same wiio left the dusky vale 







4^^- 



Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 

Its dungeons, and its towers. 
Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, 
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair. 

To fix his princely bowers. 
Though now, in age, he had laid down 
His armor for the peaceful gown. 



204 MABMION. 

And for a staff his brand, 
Yet often would Hash forth the fire, 
That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 

And minion's pride withstand ; 
And even that day, at council board. 

Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood. 

Against the war had Angus stood. 
And chafed his royal Lord. 

XY. 

His giant-form, like ruined tower. 
Though fall'n its muscles' brawny vaunt. 
Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, 

Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower : 
His locks and beard in silver grew ; 
His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
Near Douglas when the Monarch stood. 
His bitter speech he thus pursued : — 
"Lord Marmion, since these letters say 
That in the North you needs must stay. 

Whilst slightest hopes of peace remain, 
Uncourteous speech it were and stern. 
To say — Return to Lindisfarne, 

Until my herald come again. — 
Then rest you in Tantallon Hold; 
Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
A chief unlike his sires of old. 
He wears their motto on his blade. 
Their blazon o'er his towers displayed; 
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose. 
More than to face his country's foes. 
And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, 

But e'en this morn to me was given 
A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 



CANTO V. 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 201 

A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 
Under your guard, these holy maids 
Shall safe return to cloister shades, 
And, while they at Tantallon stay, 
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." 
And, with the slaughtered favorite's name. 
Across the Monarch's brow there came 
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 



XVI. 

In answer nought could Angus speak ; 
His proud heart swelled well-nigh to break 
He turned aside, and down his cheek 

A burning tear there stole. 
His hand the Monarch sudden took. 
That sight his kind heart could not brook : 

" Now, by the Bruce' s soul, 
Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! 
For sure as doth his spirit live. 
As he said of the Douglas old, 

I well may say of you, — 
That never King did subject hold. 
In speech more free, in war more bold. 
More tender and more true : 
Forgive me, Douglas, once again." — 
And, while the King his hand did strain, 
The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
To seize the moment Marmion tried, 
And whispered to the King aside : 
" Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead 
For respite short from dubious deed ! 
A child will weep a bramble's smart, 
A maid to see her sparrow part, 
A stripling for a woman's heart: 



206 



MABMION. 



CANTO V. 



/But woe awaits a country, when 
She sees tlie tears of bearded men. 
Then, oh I what omen, dark and higli, 
"When Douglas wets his manly eye ! " 

XVII. 

Displeased was James, that stranger viewed 

And tampered with his changing mood. 

" Laugh those that can, weej) tliose that may," 

Thus did the fiery monarch say, 

" Southward I march by break of day ; 

And if within Tantallon strong, 

The good Lord Marmion tarries long, 

Perchance our meeting next may fall 

At Tamworth, in his castle-hall." — 

The haughty ^Marmion felt the taunt, 

And answered, grave, the royal vaunt : 

" Much honored were my humble home. 

If in its halls King James should come ; 




CANTO V.' THE COURT. 207 

But Nottingham has archers good, 

And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ; 

Northumbrian prickers wild and rude. 

On Derby Hills the paths are steep ; 

In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 

And many a banner will be torn, 

And many a knight to earth be borne, 

And many a sheaf of arrows spent. 

Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent : 

Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may ! " — 

The Monarch lightly turned away. 

And to his nobles loud did call, — 

" Lords, to the dance, — a hall I a hall ! " 

Himself his cloak and sword flung by, 

And led Dame Heron gallantly ; 

And Minstrels, at the royal order, 

Rung out — " Blue Bonnets o'er the Border." 



Leave we these revels now, to tell 
What to Saint Hilda's maids befell. 
Whose galley, as they sailed again 
To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
Now at Dun-Edin did they bide. 
Till James should of their fate decide ; 

And soon, by his command. 
Were gently summoned to prepare 
To journey under Marmion's care. 
As escort honored, safe, and fair, 

Again to English land. 
The Abbess told her chaplet o'er, 
Nor knew which Saint she should implore 
For, when she thought of Constance, sore 

She feared Lord Marmion's mood. 
And judge what Clara must have felt! 



208 MARMION. canto v. 

The sword, that hung in Mannion's belt, 

Had drunk Dc Wilton's blood. 
Unwittingly, King James had given. 

As guard to Whitby's shades. 
The man most dreaded under heaven 

By these defenceless maids : 
Yet what petition could avail. 
Or who would listen to the tale 
Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 
'Mid bustle of a war begun ? 
They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
The convoy of their dangerous guide. 

XIX, 

Their lodging, so the King assigned, 
To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined ; 
And thus it fell, that, passing nigh, 
The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 

Who warned him by a scroll, 
She had a secret to reveal, 
That much concerned the Church's weal, 

And health of sinner's soul ; 
And, with deep charge of secrecy, 

She named a place to meet, 
Within an open balcony, 
That hung from dizzy pitch, and high, 

Above the stately street ; 
To which, as common to each home. 
At night they might in secret come. 



At night, in secret, there they came. 
The Palmer and the holy dame. 
The moon among the clouds rode high, 
And all the city hum was by. 



CANTO V. 



THE COURT. 



209 




Upon the street, where late before 
Did din of war and warriors roar, 

You might have lieard a pebble fall, 
A beetle hum, a cricket sing, 
An owlet flap his boding wing 

On Giles's steeple tall. 
The antique Ijuildings, climbing high. 
Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 

Were here wrapt deep in shade ; 
There on their brows the moonbeam broke. 
Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke. 

And on the casements played. 

And other light was none to see. 
Save torches gliding far, — 

Before some chieftain of degree, 

14 



210 MARMION. 

Who left the royal revelry 

To bowne him for the war. — 
A solemn scene the Abbess chose ; 
A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 



XXI. 

"0 holy Palmer I" she began, — 
" For sure he must be sainted man. 
Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 
For his dear Church's sake, my tale 
Attend, nor deem of light avail, 
Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
How vain to those who wed above ! — 
Dc Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed 
Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; — 
Idle it were of Whitby's dame, 
To say of that same blood I came ; — 
And once, when jealous rage was high, 
Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
Wilton was traitor in his heart. 
And had made league with Martin Swart, 
When he came here on Simnel's ])art ; 
And only cowardice did restrain 
His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
And down he threw his glove: — the thing 
Was tried, as wont, before the King; 
Where frankly did Dc Wilton own. 
That Swart in Guelders he had known ; 
And that between them then there went 
Some scroll of courteous com]>limcnt. 
For this he to his castle sent ; 
But when his messenger returned. 
Judge how De Wilton's fury burned! 



CANTO V. 



THE COURT. 213 

For in his packet there were laid 

Letters that claimed disloyal aid, 

And proved King Henry's cause betrayed. 

His fame, thus blighted, in the field 

He strove to clear, by spear and shield ; — 

To clear his fame in vain he strove. 

For wondrous are His ways above ! 

Perchance some form was unobserved ; 

Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved ; 

Else how could guiltless champion quail, 

Or how the blessed ordeal fail 'i 



" His squire, who now De Wilton saw 
As recreant doomed to suffer law. 

Repentant, owned in vain, 
That, while he had the scrolls in care, 
A stranger maiden, passing fair, 
Had drenched him with a beverage rare : 

His words no faith could gain. 
With Clare alone he credence won. 
Who, rather than Aved Marmion, 
Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair, 
To give our house her livings fair, 
And die a vestal vot'ress there. 
The impulse from the earth was given. 
But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
A purer heart, a lovelier maid. 
Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade, 
No, not since Saxon Edelfled ; 

Only one trace of earthly stain, 
That for her lover's loss 

She cherishes a sorrow vain. 
And murmurs at the cross. — 

And then her heritage ; — it goes 



214 MARMION. 

Along the banks of Tame; 
Deep fields of grain the reaper mows, 
In meadows rich the heifer lows, 
The falconer and liuntsman knows 
Its woodlands for the game. 
Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear, • 
And I, her humble vot'ress here. 

Should do a deadly sin, 
Her temple spoiled before mine e^ves, 
If this false Marmion such a prize 

By mv consent should win ; 
Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn, 
That Clare shall from our house be torn; 
And grievous cause have I to fear, 
Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 



" Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
To evil power, I claim thine aid. 

By every step that thou hast trod 
To holy shrine and grotto dim. 
By every martyi-'s tortured limb. 
By angel, saint, and seraphim, 

And by the Church of God ! 
For mark : — When Wilton was betrayed, 
And with his squire forged letters laid. 
She was, alas ! that sinful maid. 

By whom the deed was done, — 
Oh ! shame and horror to be said ! 

She was — a perjured nun! 
No clerk in all the land, like her, 
Traced quaint and varying character. 
Percliance you may a marvel deem, 

That Marmion's paramour — 
For such vile thing she was — should scheme 



CANTO V. 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 215 

Her lover's nuptial hour; 
But o'er him thus she hoped to gain, 
As privy to his honor's stain, 

Illimitable power : 
For this she secretly retained 

Each proof that might the plot reveal, 

Instructions with his hand and seal ; 
And thus Saint Hilda deigned, 

Through sinners' perfidy impure, 

Her house's glory to secure, 
And Clare's immortal weal. 

XXIV. 

" 'T were long, and needless, here to tell, 
How to my hand these papers fell ; 

With me they must not stay. 
Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true I 
Who knows what outrage he might do, 

While journeying by the way ? — 

blessed Saint, if e'er again 

1 venturous leave thy calm domain. 
To travel or by land or main, 

Deep penance may I pay ! — 
Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: 
I give this packet to thy care. 
For thee to stop they will not dare ; 

And oh ! with cautious speed, 
To Wolsey's hand the papers bring. 
That he may show them to the King : 

And, for thy well-earned meed. 
Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine 
A weekly mass shall still be thine. 

While priests can sing and read. — 
What ail'st thou ? — Speak !" — For as he took 
The charge, a strong emotion shook 



216 MARMION. 

His frame ; and, ere reply, 
They heard a famt, yet shrilly tone, 
Like distant clarion feebly blown, 

That on the breeze did die ; 
And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear, 
" Saint Withold, save us ! — What is here ! 

Look at yon City Cross I 
See on its battled tower appear 
Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, 

And blazoned banners toss ! " — 

XXY. 

Dun-Edin's Cross, a pillared stone, 
Rose on a turret octagon ; — 

But now is razed that monument, 
Whence royal edict rang. 

And voice of Scotland's law was sent 
In glorious trumpet-clang. 
Oh ! be his tomb as lead to lead, 
Upon its dull destroyer's head ! — 
A minstrel's malison is said. — 
Then on its battlements they saw 
A vision, passing Nature's law. 

Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
Figures that seemed to rise and die, 
Gibber and sign, advance and fiy, 
While nought confirmed could ear or eye 

Discern of sound or mien. 
Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
Heralds and Pursuivants prepare, 
With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, 

A summons to proclaim ; 
But indistinct the pageant proud. 
As fancy forms of midnight cloud, 
When flings the moon upon her shroud 



CANTO V. 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 217 

A wavering tinge of flame ; 
It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
From midmost of the spectre crowd. 

This awful summons came : — 



"Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 

Whose names I now shall call, 
Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ! 
Subjects of him who sent me here. 
At his tribunal to appear, 

I summon one and all : 
I cite you by each deadly sin, 
That ere hath soiled your hearts within ; 
I cite you by each brutal lust. 
That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 

By wrath, by pride, by fear, 
By each o'ermastering passion's tone. 
By the dark grave, and dying groan ! 
When forty days are passed and gone, 
I cite you, at your Monarch's throne. 

To answer and appear." — 
Then thundered forth a roll of names : — 
The first was thine, unhappy James ! 

Then all thy nobles came ; 
Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 
Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — 
Why should I tell their separate style ? 

Each chief of birth and fame. 
Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
Fore-doomed to Flodden's carnage pile, 

Was cited there by name ; 
And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 
Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; 



:18 MABMIOX. CANTO v. 

De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 

The self-same thundering voice did say. — 

But then another spoke : 
'' T^ fatal summons 1 deny, 
And thine infernal Lord defy. 
Appealing me to Him on high, 

Who burst the sinner's yoke." 
At that dread accent, with a scream, 
Parted the pageant like a dream. 

The summoner was gone. 
Prone on her face the Abbess fell. 
And fast, and fast, her beads did tell ; 
Her nuns came, startled by the yell, 

And found her there alone. 
She marked not, at the scene aghast, 
What time, or how, the Palmer passed. 

XXVII. 

Shift we the scene. — The camp doth move, 

Dun-Edin's streets are emi)ty now. 
Save when, for weal of those they love, 

To pray the prayer, and vow the vow, 
The tottering child, the anxious fair. 
The gray-haired sire, with pious care, 
To chapels and to shrines repair — 
Where is the Palmer now ? and where 
The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare? — 
Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair 

They journey in thy charge : 
Lord Marmion rode on his right hand. 
The Palmer still was M'ith the band : 
Angus, like Lindcsay, did command. 

That none should roam at large. 
]3ut in that Palmer's altered mien 
A wondrous change might now be seen ; 



CANTO V. 



THE COURT. ' 



219 



Freely he spoke of war, 
Of marvels wrought by single hand, 
When lifted for a native land ; 
And still looked high, as if he planift 

Some desperate deed afar. 
His courser would he feed and stroke, 
And, tucking up his sable frock. 
Would first his mettle bold provoke, 

Then soothe or quell his pride. 
Old Hubert said, that never one 
He saw, except Lord Marmion, 

A steed so fairlv ride. 



Some half-hour's march Ijchind, there came, 

By Eustace governed fair, 
A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 




220 MAEMION. c. 

With all her nuns, and Clare. 

No audience had Lord Marmion souo:ht ; 
Ever he feared to aggravate 
Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 

And safer 'twas, he thought. 

To wait till, from the nuns removed, 
The influence of kinsmen loved. 
And suit by Henry's self ap])roved. 

Her slow consent had wrought. 

His was no flickering flame, that dies 

Unless when fanned by looks and sighs, 

And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 

He longed to stretch his wide command 

O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 

Besides, when Wilton with him vied, 

Although the pang of humbled pride 

The place of jealousy supplied. 

Yet conquest, by that meanness won 

He almost loathed to think upon, 

Led him, at times, to hate the cause, 

Which made him burst through honor's laws. 

If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone, 

Who died within that vault of stone. 

XXIX. 

And now, when close at hand they saw 
North Berwick's town, and lofty Law, 
Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile, 
Before a venerable pile. 

Whose turrets viewed, afar, 
The lofty Bass, the Lambic Isle, 

The ocean's peace or war. 
At tolling of a bell, forth came 
The convent's venerable Dame, 
And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 221 

With her, a loved and honored guest, 

Till Douglas should a bark prepare 

To waft her back to Whitby fair. 

Glad was the Abbess, you may guess, 

And thanked the Scottish Prioress ; 

And tedious were to tell, I ween, 

The courteous speech that passed between. 

O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave; 
But when fair Clara did intend. 
Like them, from horseback to descend, 

Fitz-Eustace said, — "I grieve, 
Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart, 
Such gentle company to part ; — 

Think not discourtesy. 
But lords' commands must be obeyed ; 
And Marmion and the Douglas said. 

That you must wend with me. 
Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, 
Which to the Scottish Earl he showed, 
Commanding, that, beneath his care, 
Without delay, you shall repair 
To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare." 

XXX. 

The startled Abbess loud exclaimed ; 
But she, at whom the blow was aimed, 
Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 
She deemed she heard her death-doom read. 
" Cheer thee, my child ! " the Abbess said, 
" They dare not tear thee from my hand, 
To ride alone with armed band." — 

"Nay, holy mother, nay," 
Fitz-Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 
Will be in Lady Angus' care. 

In Scotland while we stay ; 



222 MAKMION. 

And, when we move, an easv ride 
Will bring ns to the English side, 
Female attendance to provide 

Befitting Gloster's heir: 
Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord, 
By slightest look, or act, or word, 

To harass Lady Clare. 
Her faitlilul guardian he will be. 
Nor sue for slightest courtesy 
That e'en to stranger falls. 
Till he shall place her, safe and free. 

Within her kinsman's halls." 
He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace 
His faith was painted on his face, 
And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
On Henry, and the Douglas blamed, 

Entreated, threatened, grieved ; 
To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed, 
Against Lord Marmion inveighed. 
And called the Prioress to aid, 
To curse with candle, bell, and book. 
Her head the grave Cistertian shook: 
"The Douglas, and the King," she said, 
" In their commands will be obeyed ; 
Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
The maiden in Tantallon hall." 

XXXI. 

The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
Assumed her Avonted state again, — 

For much of state she had, — 
Composed her veil, and raised her head. 
And — "Bid," in solemn voice she said, 

"Thy master, bold and bad, 



CANTO V. 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 223 

The records of his house turn o'er, 

And, when he shall there written see, 

That one of his own ancestry 

Drove the Monks forth of Coventry, 
Bid him his fate explore ! 

Prancing- in pride of earthly trust. 

His charger hurled him to the dust. 

And, by a base plebeian thrust. 
He died his band before. 

God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ; 

He is a Chief of high degree, 
And I a poor recluse ; 

Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 

Even such weak minister as me 
May the oppressor bruise : 

For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
The mighty in his sin, 

And Jael thus, and Deborah " — 
Here hasty Blount broke in : 
" Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band ; 
Saint Anton' fire thee ! wilt thou stand 
All day, with bonnet in thy hand, 

To hear the Lady preach ? 
By this good light ! if thus we stay, 
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay. 

Will sharper sermon teach. 
Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse ; 
The Dame must patience take perforce." 

XXXII. 

" Submit we then to force," said Clare. 
" But let this barbarous lord despair 

His purposed aim to win ; 
Let him take living, land, and life ; 
But to be Marmion's wedded wife 



224 



MABMIOK 



CANTO V. 




Ill iiie were deadly sin : 
And if it be the King's decree, 
That I must find no sanctnaiy, 
In that inviolable dome, 
Where even a homicide might come. 

And safely rest his head, 
Though at its open portals stood, 
Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood, 

The kinsmen of the dead ; 
Yet one asylum is my own 

Against the dreaded hour ; 
A low, a silent, and a lone, 

Where kings have little power. 
One victim is before me there. — 
Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
Remember your unhappy Clare ! " 



CANTO V. THE COURT. 225 

Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 

Kind blessings many a one : 
Weeping and wailing loud arose, 
Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 

Of every simple nun. 
His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. 
And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide. 

Then took the squire her rein, 
And gently led away her steed, 
And, by each courteous word and deed. 

To cheer her strove in vain. 



But scant three miles the band had rode, 

When o'er a height they passed. 
And, sudden, close before them showed 

His towers, Tantallon vast ; 
Broad, massive, high, and stretching far, 
And held impregnable in war. 
On a projecting rock they rose, 
And round three sides the ocean flows, 
The fourth did battled walls inclose. 

And double mound and fosse. 
By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong, 
Through studded gates, an entrance long, 

To the main court they cross. 
It was a wide and stately square : 
Around were lodgings, fit and fair, 

And towers of various form, 
Which on the court projected far, 
And broke its lines quadrangular. 
Here was square keep, there turret high, 
Or pinnacle that sought the sky. 
Whence oft the Warder could descry 

The gathering ocean-storm. 
15 



226 MARMION. 



CANTO V. 



XXXIV. 

Here did they rest. — The princely care 
Of Douglas, why should I declare, 
Or say they met reception fair? 

Or why the tidings say, 
Which, varying, to Tantallon came. 
By hurrying posts, or fleeter fame. 

With every varying day ? 
And, first, they heard King James had won 
Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then, 
That Norham Castle strong was ta'en. 
At that sore marvelled Marmion ; — 
And Douglas hoped his Monarch's hand 
Would soon subdue Northumberland : 

But whispered news there came, 
That while his host inactive lay. 
And melted by degrees away, 
King James was dallying off the day 

With Heron's wily dame. 
Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 
Go seek them there, and see : 
Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 

And not a history. — 
At length they heard the Scottish host 
On that high ridge had made their ]30st. 

Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ; 
And that brave Surrey many a band 
Had gathered in the Southern land. 
And marched into Northumberland, 

And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
Marmion, like charger in the stall, 
That hears, without, the trumpet-call. 

Began to chafe, and swear : — 
" A sorry thing to hide my head 



CANTO V. 



THE COURT. 



227 



In castle, like a fearful maid, 
When such a field is near. 
Needs must I see this battle-day: 
Death to my fame if such a fray 
Were fought, and Marmion away ! 
The Douglas, too, I wot not why, 
Hath 'bated of his courtesy : 
No longer in his halls I '11 stay." 
Then bade his band they should array 
For march against the dawning day. 




CANTO SIXTH 




RICHARD HEBER, ESQ 



Mertoun House, Christnui'^ 

Heap on more wood ! — the wind is chill , 

But let it whistle as it will, 

We '11 keep our Christmas merry still. 

Each age has deemed the new-born year 

The fittest time for festal cheer : 

Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 

At lol more deep the mead did drain ; 

High on the beach his galleys drew, 

And feasted all his pirate crew ; 

Then in his low and pine-built hall, 

Where shields and axes decked the wall, 

They gorged upon the half-dressed steer ; 

Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 

While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 



^' \ 



232 INTRODUCTION TO 

The half-gnawed rilj, and marrowbone, 

Or listened all, in grim delight, 

While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 

Then forth, in frenzy, Avould they hie, 

While wildly loose their red locks fly. 

And dancing round the blazing pile. 

They make such barbarous mirth the while, 

As best might to the mind recall 

The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 

And well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had rolled, 
And brought blithe Christmas back again, 
With all his hospitable train. 
Domestic and religious rite 
Gave honor to the holy night ; 
On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 
On Christmas eve the mass was sung : 
That only night in all the year. 
Haw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; 
The hall was dressed with holly green ; 
Forth to the wood did merry-men go, 
To gather in the mistletoe. 
Then opened wide the Baron's hall 
To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
Power laid his rod of rule aside, 
And Ceremony doffed his pride. 
The heir, with roses in his shoes, 
That night might village partner choose ; 
The Lord, underogating, share 




CAym bi\rn 

The \ulgar game of "pobt and pan." 
All hailed, -with untouti oiled delight, 
And geneial \()ice, the hai)p} lu^ht, 
That to the tottage. as the ciown, 
Biought tidings of sihatKJU d()^\n. 

The file, with A\ell-dued log^ buppliul, 
Went 1 oaring up the thinmey wide ; 
The huge hall-tahk'-- oaken face, 
Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, 
Bore then upon its massive board 
No mark to part the squire and lord. 
Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 
By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
Then the grim boar's head frowned on high 
Crested with bays and rosemary. 
Well can the green-garbed ranger tell. 
How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 
What dogs before his death he tore. 
And all the baiting of the boar. 
The Avassail round, in good brown bowls, 
Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 
Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas pie : 
Nor failed old Scotland to produce. 
At such high tide, her savory goose. 
Then came the merry maskers in, 
And carols roared with blithesome din ; 
If unmelodious was the song. 
It was a hearty note, and strong. 
Who lists may in their mumming see 



234 



lymoLUCTioN to 



Traces of ancient mystery ; 
White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
And smutted cheeks the visors made ; 
^'(Jn(| But, oh ! what maskers, richly dight, 
?^^;^^^«-^j(v''^ Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
England was merry England, when 
Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
'T was Christmas broached tbe mightiest ale 
'T was Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
The poor man's heart through half the year. 



& 



Still linger, in our northern clime, 
Some remnants of the good old time ; 
And still, within our valleys here, 
"We hold the kindred title dear, 
Even when, perchance, its far-fetched claii 
To Southron ear sounds empty name ; 
For course of blood, our proverbs deem. 
Is warmer than the mountain-stream. 
And thus, my Christmas still I hold 
Where my great-grandsire came of old, 
"With amber beard, and flaxen hair, 
And reverend apostolic air — 
The feast and holy-tide to share. 
And mix sobriety with wine, 
And honest mirth with thoughts divine : 
Small thought was his, in after time 
E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
The simple sire could only boast, 
That he was loyal to his cost ; 




CANTO SIXTH. 23 E 

The banished race of kings revered, 
And lost his h\nd, — but kept his beard. 

In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
Is with fair liberty combined ; 
Where cordial friendship gives the hand. 
And flies constraint the magic wand 
Of the fair dame that rules the land, 
Little we heed the tempest drear. 
While music, mirth, and social cheer. 
Speed on their wings the passing year. 
And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now. 
When not a leaf is on the bough. 
Tweed loves them well, and turns again, 
As loath to leave the sweet domain, 
And holds his mirror to her face, 
And clips her with a close embrace : — 
Gladly as he, we seek the dome. 
And as reluctant turn us home. 

How just that, at this time of glee, 
My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee ! 
For many a merry hour we 've known. 
And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 
Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease, 
And leave these classic tomes in peace ! 
Of Roman and of Grecian lore. 
Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, 
" Were pretty fellows in their day ; " 
But time and tide o'er all prevail — 



236 



INTRODUCTION TO 



On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 

Of wonder and of war — " Profane ! 

What I leave the lofty Latian strain, 

Her stately prose, her verse's charms, 

To hear the chish of rusty arms : 

In fairy Land or Limbo lost, 

To jostle conjurer and ghost, 

Gdblin and witch ! " — Nay, Heber dear, 

Before you touch my charter, hear ; 

Tliongh Leyden aids, alas ! no more, 

^[y cause with many-languaged lore. 

This may I say : — in realms of death 

Ulysses meets Alcides' icraith ; 

^neas, upon Thracia's shore, 

The ghost of murdered Polydore ; 

For omens, we in Livy cross. 

At every turn, locutus Bos. 

As grave and duly speaks that ox, 

As if he told the price of stocks ; 

Or held, in Rome republican, 

The place of Common-councilman. 

All nations have their omens drear, 
Their legends wild of woe and fear. 
To Cambria look — the peasant see, 
Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 
And shun "the Spirit's Blasted Tree." — 
The Highlander, whose red claymore 
The battle turned on Maida's shore, 
"Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, 
If asked to tell a fairy tale : 





He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 
Who leaves that day his grassy ring : 
Invisible to human ken, 
He walks among the sons of men. 

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 
Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 
Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair ? 
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
A mighty treasure buried lay, 
Amassed through rapine and through wrong 
By the last Lord of Franchemont. 
The iron chest is bolted hard, 
A Huntsman sits, its constant guard ; 
Around his neck his horn is hung, 
His hanger in his belt is slung ; 
Before his feet his bloodhounds lie : 
And, 't were not for his gloomy eye, 
Whose withering glance no heart can biook. 
As true a huntsman doth he look, 
As bugle e'er in brake did sound. 
Or ever hallooed to a hound. 
To chase the tiend, and win the prize, 
In that same dungeon ever tries 
An aged Necromantic Priest ; 
It is an hundred years at least, 
Since 'twixt them first the strife begun. 
And neither yet has lost nor won. 
And oft the Conjurer's words will make 
The stubliorn Demon groan and quake ; 




J38 IXTROLUCTIOX TO 

And oft the bands of iron break, 
Or bursts one lock, that still amain, 
Fast as 't is opened, shuts again. 
That magic strife within the tomb 
May last until the day of doom, 
Unless the Adept shall learn to tell 
The very word that clenched the spell, 
When Franch'mont locked the treasure cell. 
Aw hundred years are passed and gone, 
And scarce three letters has he won. 

Such general superstition may 
Excuse for old Pitscottie say ; 
Whose gossip history has given 
My song the messenger from Heaven, 
That warned, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 
Nor less the infernal summoning ; 
May pass the Monk of Durham's tale, 
Whose Demon fought in Gothic mail ; 
j\lay pardon plead for Fordun grave, 
Who told of Giflbrd's Goblin-Cave. 
But why such instances to you. 
Who, in an instant, can renew 
Your treasured hoards of various lore. 
And furnish twenty thousand more ? 
Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest 
Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest. 
While gripple owners still refuse 
To others what they cannot use ; 
Give them the priest's Avhole century, 
They shall not spell you letters three ; 




THE BATTLE. 



While great events were on the gale, 

And each hour brought a varying tale, 

And the demeanor, changed and cold. 

Of Douglas, fretted Marmion bold, 

And, like the impatient steed of war. 

He snuffed the battle from afar ; 

And hopes were none, that back again 

Herald should come from Tei'ouenne, 

Where England's King in leaguer lay. 

Before decisive battle-day ; 

Whilst these things were, the mournful Clare 

16 



242 MAEMIUX. canto vi. 

Did in the Dame's devotions share : 

For the good Countess ceaseless prayed 

To Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid, 

And, with short interval, did ])ass 

From prayer to l)ook, from book to mass, 

And all in high Baronial pride, — 

A life both dull and dignified ; — 

Yet as Lord Marmion nothing jjressed 

Upon her intervals of rest, 

Dejected Clara well could bear 

The formal state, the lengthened prayer, 

Tlioiigh dearest to her wounded heart 

The hours that she niiglit spend apart. 

II. 
I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 
Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 
Many a rude tower and ramiiart there 
B,e|)elled the insult of the air. 
Which, when the tempest vexed the sky, 
Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. 
Above the rest, a turret square 
Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear, 
Of sculpture rude, a stony shield ; 
The Bloody Heart was in the Field, 
And in the chief three mullets stood. 
The cognizance of Douglas blood. 
The turret held a narrow stair. 
Which, mounted, gave you access where, 
A ])arapet's embattled row 
Did seaward round the castle go. 
Sometimes in dizzy steps descending. 
Sometimes in narrow circuit bending, 
Sometimes in platform broad extending, 
Its varying circle did combine 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 243 

Bulwark, and bartizan, and line, 

And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign : 

Above the booming ocean leant 

The far-projecting battlement ; 

The billows burst, in ceaseless flow, 

Upon the precipice below. 

Where'er Tantallon faced the land. 

Gate works, and walls, were strongly manned ; 

No need upon the sea-girt side; 

The steepy rock, and frantic tide. 

Approach of human step denied; 

And thus these lines, and ramparts rude. 

Were left in deepest solitude. 

III. 

And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
Would to these battlements repair. 
And muse upon her sorrows there. 

And list the sea-bird's cry ; 
Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide 
Along the dark-gray bulwarks' side, 
And ever on the heaving tide 

Look down with weary eye. 
Oft did the cliff, and swelling main, 
Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — 
A home she ne'er might see again : 

For she had laid adown, 
So Douglas bade, the hood and veil. 
And frontlet of the cloister pale. 

And Benedictine gown : 
It were unseemly sight, he said, 
A novice out of convent shade. — 
Now her bright locks, with sunny glow. 
Again adorned her brow of snow ; 
Her mantle rich, whose borders, round. 



244 MABMION. canto vi. 

A deep and fretted broidery bound, 
In g-olden foldings sought the ground; 
Of holy ornament, alone 
Remained a cross with ruby stone ; 

And often did she look 
On that Avhich in her hand she bore, 
With velvet bound, and Ijroidcred o'er, 

Her breviary book. 
In such a place, so lone, so grim. 
At dawning pale, or twilight dim, 

It fearful would ha^e been 
To meet a form so richly dressed, 
With book in hand, and cross on breast, 

And such a woful mien, 
Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, 
To practise on the gull and crow. 
Saw her, at distance, gliding slow. 

And did by Mary swear, — 
Some lovelorn Fay she might have been. 
Or, in Romance, some spell-bound Queen; 
For ne'er, in work-day Avorld, was seen 

A form so Avitching fair. 



Once walking thus, at evening tide. 

It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 

And, sighing, thought — "The Abbess, there. 

Perchance, does to her home repair; 

Her peaceful rule, Avhere Duty, free, 

Walks hand in hand with Charity ; 

Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 

Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow, 

That the enraptured sisters see 

High vision, and deep mystery ; 

The very form of Hilda fair. 



CANTO XL 



THE BATTLE. 



245 




Hovering upon the sunny air, 

And smiling on her A'otaries' prayer. 

Oh, wherefore, to my duller eye. 

Did still the Saint her form deny ! 

Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn, 

My heart could neither melt nor l)ui-n ? 

Or lie my warm affections low, 

With him that taught them first to glow? 

Yet, gentle Abbess, well 1 knew. 

To pay thy kindness grateful due. 

And well could brook the mild command. 

That ruled thy simple maiden band. 

How different now ! condemned to bide 

My doom from this dark tyrant's pride. — 

But Marmion has to learn, ere long. 

That constant mind, and hate of wrong, 



246 3IABMI0N. canto vi. 

Descended to a feeble girl, 

From Red De Clare, stout Glostcr's Earl : 

Of such a stem, a sapling weak, 

He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 



"But sec! — what makes this armor here?" — 

For in her path there lay 
Targe, corselet, helm; — she viewed them near, 
"The breastplate pierced! — Ay, much I fear, 
Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear. 
That hath made fatal entrance here. 

As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corselet's ward, 
Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
Could be thy manly bosom's guard. 

On yon disastrous day ! " — 
She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
Wilton himself before her stood ! 
It might have seemed his passing ghost, 
For every youthful grace was lost ; 
And joy unwonted, and surprise. 
Gave their strange wildness to his eyes. — 
Expect not, noble dames and lords, 
That I can tell such scene in words : 
What skilful limner e'er would choose 
To paint tbe rainbow's varying hues, 
Unless to mortal it were given 
To dip liis brush in dyes of heaven ? 
Far less can my weak line declare 

Each changing passion's shade ; 
Brightening to rapture from des])air. 
Sorrow, surprise, and pity there. 
And joy, with her angelic air, 
And hope, that paints the future fair, 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 249 

Their varying hues displayed : 
Each o'er its rival's ground extending, 
Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, 
Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield. 
And mighty Love retains the field. 
Shortly I tell what then he said, 
By many a tender word delayed, 
And modest blush, and bursting sigh. 
And question kind, and fond reply : — 



DE WILTON S HISTORY. 

" Forget we that disastrous day, 
When senseless in the lists I lay. 

Thence dragged, — but how I cannot know. 
For sense and recollection fled, — 

I found me on a pallet low, 

Within my ancient beadsman's shed. 

Austin, — remember'st thou, my Clare, 
How thou didst l)lush, when the old man, 
When first our infant love began. 

Said we would make a matchless pair? — 
Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
He only held my burning head. 
And tended me for many a day. 
While wounds and fever held their sway. 
But far more needful was his care. 
When sense returned to wake despair; 

For I did tear the closing wound, 

And dash me frantic on the ground, 
If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
At length, to calmer reason brought, 



250 MARMION. canto vi. 

Much by his kind attendance wrought, 

With him I left my native strand, 
And, in a pahner's weeds arrayed, 
My hated name and form to shade, 

I journeyed many a land ; 
No more a lord of rank and birth, 
But mingled with the dregs of earth. 

Oft Austin for my reason feared, 
When I would sit, and deeply brood 
On dark revenge, and deeds of blood. 

Or wild mad schemes uprcarcd. 
My friend at length fell sick, and said, 

God would remove him soon : 
And, while upon his dying bed. 

He begged of me a boon — 
If e'er my deadliest enemy 
Beneath my brand should conquered lie. 
Even then my mercy should awake. 
And spare his life for Austin's sake. 

VII. 

" Still restless as a second Cain, 

To Scotland next my route was ta'en. 

Full well the paths I knew. 
Fame of my fate made various sound, 
That death in pilgrimage 1 found, 
That I had perished of my wound, — 

None cared which tale was true: 
And living eye could never guess 
De Wilton in his Palmer's dress ; 
For now that sable slough is shed. 
And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, 
I scarcely know me in the glass. 
A chance most wondrous did provide. 
That I should be that Baron's guide — 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 251 

I will not name his name ! — 
Yengeance to God alone belongs ; 
But, when I think on all my wrongs, 

My blood is liquid flame 1 
And ne'er the time shall I forget, 
When, in a Scottish hostel set. 

Dark looks we did exchange : 
What were his thoughts I cannot tell, 
But in my bosom mustered Hell 

Its plans of dark revenge. 

VIII. 

"A word of vulgar augury. 

That broke from me, I scarce knew why. 

Brought on a village tale ; 
Which wrought upon his moody sprite. 
And sent him armed forth by night. 

I borrowed steed and mail. 
And weapons, from his sleeping band ; 

And, passing from a postern door, 
We met, and 'countered, hand to hand, — 

He fell on Gifford-moor, 
For the death-stroke my brand I drew, — 
Oh, then my helmed head he knew, 

The Palmer's cowl was gone, — 
Then had three inches of my blade 
The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
My hand the thought of Austin stayed; 

I left him there alone. — 
O good old man ! even from the grave. 
Thy spirit could thy master save : 
If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear. 
Given to my hand this packet dear. 
Of power to clear my injured fame, 



252 MARMION. 

And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 

That broke our secret speech — 
It rose from the infernal shade, 
Or featly was some juggle played, 

A tale of peace to teach. 
Appeal to Heaven I judged was best. 
When my name came among the rest. 

IX. 

"Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 
To Douglas late my tale I told. 
To w^hom my house was known of old. 
Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 
This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
These were the arms that once did turn 
The tide of fight on Otterburne, 
xVnd Harry Hotspur forced to yield, 
When the Dead Douglas won the field. 
These Angus gave — his armorer's care, 
Ere morn, shall every breach repair ; 
For nought, he said, was in his halls. 
But ancient armor on the walls. 
And aged chargers in the stalls. 
And women, priests, and gray-haired men 
The rest were all in Twisel glen. 
And now I watch my armor here, 
By law of arms, till midnight 's near ; 
Tlien, once again a belted knight. 
Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 



'' There soon again we meet, my Clare ! 
This Baron means to guide thee there : 



CANTO VI. 



THE BATTLE. 



253 



Douglas reveres his King's command, 
Else would he take thee from his band. 
And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too. 
Will give De Wilton justice due. 
Now meeter far for martial broil, 
Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil. 
Once more" — "0 Wilton! must we then 
Risk new-found happiness again, 

Trust fate of arms once more ?^ 
And is there not an humble glen, 

Where we, content and poor. 
Might build a cottage in the shade, 
A shepherd thou, and I to aid 

Thy task on dale and moor ? — 
That reddening brow ! — too well I know. 
Not even thy Clare can peace bestow. 

While falsehood stains thy name : 
Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go ! 




254 MARMION. canto v 

Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 

And weep a warrior's shame ; 
Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, 
Bnckle the spurs upon thy heel 
And belt thee with thy brand of steel, 

And send thee forth to fame ! " 

XI. 

That night npon the rocks and bay. 
The midnight moon])eam slumbering lay. 
And poured its silver light, and pure, 
Through loophole, and through embrasure, 

Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 
But chief where arched windows wide 
Illuminate the chapel's pride. 

The sober glances fall. 
Much was there need; though seamed with scars, 
Two veterans of the Douglas' wars. 

Though two gray priests were there, 
And each a blazing torch held high, 
You could not by their blaze descry 

The chapel's carving fair. 
Amid that dim and smoky light, 
Checkering the silvery moonshine bright, 

A bishop by the altar stood, 

A noble lord of Douglas blood. 
With mitre she(?n, and rochet white. 
Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 
But little pride of prelacy ; 
More pleased that, in a barbarous age, 
He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page. 
Than that l^eneath his rule he held 
The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
Doffed his furred gown, and sable hood : 



THE BATTLE. 



255 




O'er his huge form and visag-e pale, . 
He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 
And leaned his large and wrinkled hand 
Upon the huge and sweeping brand 
Which wont of yore, in battle fray. 
His foeman's limbs to shred away, 
As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. 

He seemed as, from the tombs around 
Rising at judgment-day, 

Some giant Douglas may be found 
In all his old array ; 
So pale his face, so huge his limb. 
So old his arms, his look so t>-rim. 



256 MARMION. 



XII. 

Thou at the altar Wilton kneels, 
And Clare the 8])urs bound on his heels ; 
And think what next he must have felt, 
At buckling of the falchion belt ! 

And judge how Clara changed her hue, 
While fastening to her lover's side 
A friend, which, though in danger tried, 

He once had found untrue ! 
Then Douglas struck him with his Ijhule : 
"Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid. 

I dub thee knight. 
Arise, Sir Ralph, Do W^ilton's heir! 
For King, for Church, for Lady fair. 

See that thou light." — 
And Bisho}) Gawain, as he rose, 
Said — " Wilton I grieve not for thy woes. 

Disgrace, and trouble ; 
For He, who honor best bestows. 

May give thee double." — 
De Wilton solibed, for sob he must — 
" Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 

That Douglas is my brother ! " 
" Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so ; 
To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 

Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
I have two sons in yonder field ; 
And, if thou meet'st them under shield, 
Upon them Ijravely — do thy worst ; 
And foul fall him that blenches first!" 



Not far advanced was morning day, 
When Marmion did his troop array 



CANTO VI. 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 257 

To Surrey's camp to ride ; 
He had safe conduct for his band, 
Beneath the roj^al seal and hand, 

And Douglas gave a guide : 
The ancient Earl, with stately grace, 
Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
And whispered in an undertone, 
" Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." 
The train from out the castle drew, 
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu : — 

" Though something I might plain," he said, 
" Of cold respect to stranger guest, 
Sent hither by your King's behest, 

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed ; 
Part we in friendship from your land, 
And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — 
But Douglas round him drew his cloak. 
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
" My manors, halls, and bowers shall still 
Be open, at my Sovereign's will. 
To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
My castles are my King's alone. 
From turret to foundation-stone — 
The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
And never shall in friendly gras}) 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp." 

XIV. 

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire. 
And shook his very frame for ire. 

And — "This to me!" he said, 
"An 't were not for thy hoary beard, 
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 

To cleave the Douglas' head ! 

17 



258 MARMIOX. cant 

And, first, 1 tell tluv, luinuhty Pcvr. 
lie, \vh() doi's Kuiilaiurs message here, 
Althouiili the meanest in her state, 
May well, i)i-oud Anjrns, be thy mate: 
And, Ponulas, more 1 tell thee lierc. 

Even in thy ])iti'h of ])ride. 
Here in thy hohl, thy vassals near, — 
Nay, never look ni)on your lord, 
Antl lay your hands u])on your sword. — 

1 tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
And if thou saidst, I am not ])eer 
To any lord in Seotland here. 
Lowland or Iliu-hlanil, far or near. 

Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! " — 
On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
O'ereame the ashen hue of age : 
Fierce he broke forth, — "And darcst thou then 
To l)eard the lion in his den. 

The Douglas in his hall ? 
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go? — 
No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! 
Up drawbridge, grooms — what. Warder, ho! 

Let the portcullis fall." — 
Lord Marmion turned, — well Avas his need. 
And dashed the rowehs in his steed. 
Like arrow through the archway sprung. 
The ponderous grate behind liim rung : 
To pass there was such scanty room, 
The bars, descending, razed his ]>lume. 

XV. 

The steed along the drawbridge flies, 
Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
Nor lighter does the swallow skim 
Along the smooth lake's level brim: 



THE BATTLE. 



261 




And when Lord Marmion reached his band, 

He halts, and turns with clenched hand. 

And shout of loud defiance pours, 

And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 

" Horse ! horse ! " the Douglas cried, " and chase ! 

But soon he reined his fury's pace : 

" A royal messenger he came. 

Though most unworthy of the name. — 

A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed ! 

Did ever knight so foul a deed I 

At first in heart it liked fne ill, 

When the King praised his clerkly skill. 

Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine. 

Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : 

So swore I, and I swear it still. 

Let my boy-bishop fret his fill, — 

Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 

Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 

I thought to slay him where he stood. 

'T is pity of him too," he cried : 

"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride, 

I warrant him a warrior tried." 



262 MABMION. canto vi. 

Witli this liis mandate lie recalls, 
And slowly socks his castle halls. 



The day in Marniion's journey wore ; 

Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er. 

They crossed the heights of Stanrig-moor. 

His troop more closely there he scanned. 

And missed the Palmer from the band. — 

" Palmer or not," young Blount did say, 

" He parted at the peep of day ; 

Good sooth, it was in strange array." — 

" In what array ? " said Marmion, quick. 

" My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 

Eut all night long, with clink and bang, 

Close to my couch did hammers clang; 

At dawn the falling drawbridge rang, 

And from a loophole while I peep, 

Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep, 

Wrapped in a gown of sables fair, 

As fearful of the morning air ; 

Beneath, when that was blown aside, 

A rusty shirt of mail I spied. 

By Archibald won in bloody work. 

Against the Saracen and Turk : 

Last night it hung not in the hall ; 

I thought some marvel would befall. 

And next I saw them saddled lead 

Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ; 

A matchless horse, though something old, 

Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 

I heard the Sheriff Sholto say, 

The Earl did much the Master pray 

To use him on the battle-day ; 

But he preferred" — "Nay, Henry, cease! 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 263 

Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — 
Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray, 
What did Blount see at break of day ? " — 

XVII. 

"In brief, my lord, we both descried — 
For then I stood by Henry's side — 
The Palmer mount, and outwards ride 

Upon the Earl's own favorite steed. 
All sheathed he was in armor bright. 
And much resembled that same knight, 
Subdued by you in Cots wold fight : 

Lord Angus wished him speed." — 
The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 
A sudden light on Marmion broke; — 
" Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! " 
He muttered ; " 'T was nor fay nor gliost 
I met upon the moonlight wold. 
But liviug man of earthly mould. — 

O dotage blind and gross ! 
Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
Had laid De Wilton in the dust. 

My path no more to cross. — 
How stand we now? — he told his tale 
To Douglas ; and with some avail ; 

'Twas therefore gloomed his rugged brow. — 
Will Surrey dare to entertain, 
'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain? 

Small risk of that, I trow. 
Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun ; 
Must separate Constance from the Nun — 
Oh, what a tangled web we weave, 
When first we practise to deceive ! 
A Palmer too ! — no wonder why 
I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 



264 MAEMION. canto vi. 

I might have known there was but one, 
Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." 

XVIII. 

Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
His troop, and reached, at eve, the Tweed, 
Where Lennel's convent closed their march; — 
There now is left but one frail arch. 

Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 
Our time a fair exchange has made ; 
Hard by, in hospitable shade, 

A reverend pilgrim dwells. 
Well worth the whole Bcrnardine brood, 
That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood. — 
Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
Give Marmion entertainment fair. 
And lodging for his train and Clare. 
Next morn the Baron climbed the tower. 
To view afar the Scottish power. 

Encamped on Flodden edge : 
The white pavilions made a show, 
Like remnants of the winter snow. 

Along the dusky ridge. 
Long Marmion looked : — at length his eye 
Unusual movement might descry 

Amid the shifting lines: 
The Scottish host drawn out appears. 
For, flashing on the hedge of spears. 

The eastern sunbeam shines. 
Their front now deepening, now extending; 
Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending. 
Now drawing back, and now descending. 
The skilful Marmion well could know, 
They watched the motions of some foe. 
Who traversed on the plain below. 



THE BATTLE. 



265 



XIX. 

Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 
The Scots beheld the English host 
Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post, 
And heedful watched them as thev crossed 




The Till by Twisel Bridge. 

High sight it is, and haughty, while 
They dive into the deep defile ; 
Beneath the caverned cliff they fall, 
Beneath the castle's airy wall. 

By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 
Troop after troop are disappearing ; 
Troop after troop their banners rearing, 



266 MARMION. canto vi. 

Upon the eastern bank you see. 
Still pourino; down the rocky den, 

Where flows the sullen Till, 
And rising from the dim-wood glen, 
Standards on standards, men o\\ men, 

In slow succession still, 
And, sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 
And pressing on, in ceaseless march. 

To gain the opposing hill. 
That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 
Twisel! thy rock's deep echo rang; 
And many a chief of V)irth and rank. 
Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
In spring-tide bloom so lavishly, 
Had then from many an axe its doom. 
To give the marching columns room. 

XX. 

And why stands Scotland idly now, 
Dark Flodden ! on thy airy brow. 
Since England gains the pass the while, 
And struggles through the deep defile ? 
What checks the fiery soul of James? 
Why sits that champion (jf the dames 

Inactive on his steed, 
And sees, between him and his land. 
Between him and Tweed's southern strand. 

His host Lord Surrey load ? 
• What 'vails the vain knight-errant's brand? — 
Douglas, for thy leading wand! 

Fierce Randolph, for thy speed! 
Oh for one hour of Wallace wight, 
Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight, 
And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right ! " 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 

Another sight liad seen tliat morn, 
From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn, 
And Flodden had been Bannockbourne ! — 
The precious hour has passed in vain, 
And England's host has gained the plain; 
Wheeling their march, and circling still, 
Around the base of Flodden hill. 



XXI. 

Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 

Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, 

"Hark! hark! my lord, an English drum! 

And see ascending squadrons come 
Between Tweed's river and the hill. 

Foot, horse, and cannon:— hap what hap, 

My basnet to a 'prentice cap, 
Lord Surrey's o'er the Till! 

Yet more! yet more! — how fair arrayed 

They file from out the hawthorn shade, 

And sweep so gallant by ! 
With all their Ijanners bravely spread. 

And all their armor flashing high, 
Saint George might waken from the dead, 
To see fair England's standards fly." — 
"Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount, " thou *dst best. 
And listen to our lord's behest.'' — 
With kindling brow Lord Marmion said,— 
"This instant be our band arrayed; 
The river must be quickly crossed. 
That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
If fight King James, — as well I trust, 
That fight he will, and fight he must,— 
The Lady Clare behind our lines 
Shall tarry, while the battle joins." 



26^ 



268 MABMION. caxto vi. 



XXII. 

Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
^!eai-c'o to the Abbot bade adieu ; 
Far less would listen to his prayer, 
To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
Down to the Tweed his band he drew, 
And muttered as the flood they view, 
^ The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 
He scarce will yield to ])lease a daw : 
Lord Anirus may the Abbot awe. 

So Clare shall bide Avith me." 
Tlien on that dangerous ford, and deep. 
Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep 

He ventured desperately : 
And not a moment will he bide. 
Till squire, or groom, before him ride ; 
Headmost of all he stems the tide, 

And stems it gallantly. 
Eustace held Clare u])on her shore. 

Old Hubert led her rein, 
Stoutly they braved the current's course. 
And, though far downward driven per force, 

The southern bank they gain ; 
Behind them straggling, came to shore. 

As best they might, the train: 
Each o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 

A caution not in vain ; 
Deep need that day that every string, 
By wet unharmed, should sharply ring. 
A moment then Lord Marmion stayed. 
And breathed his steed, his men arrayed, 

Then forward moved his band, 
Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won, 



CANTO VI. 



THE BATTLE. 



269 



He halted by a Cross of Stone, 
That, on a hillock standing lone, 
Did all the field command. 

XXIIl. 

Hence might they see the full array 
Of either host, for deadly fray ; 
Their marshalled lines stretched east and west, 
And fronted north and south, 




/y// ^N ' ^ 



And distant salutation passed 

From the loud cannon mouth ; 
Not in the close successive rattle, 
That breathes the voice of modern battle. 

But slow and far between. — 
The hillock gained, Lord Marmion stayed : 
" Here, by this Cross," he gently said, 

" You well may view the scene. 
Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
Oh! think of ]\rarmion in thy prayer! — 



270 MARMION. canto vi. 

Thou wilt not? — well, no less my care 
Shall, Avatchfiil, for thy weal prepare. — 
You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard. 

With ten ])icked archers of my train ; 
With England if the day go hard, 

To Berwick speed amain, — 
But if we conquer, cruel maid. 
My spoils shall at your feet he laid, 

When here we meet again." 
He waited not for answer there. 
And would not mark the maid's despair. 

Nor heed the discontented look 
From either squire ; but spurred amain. 
And, dashing through the battle-])lain. 

His way to Surrey took. 

XXIV. 

" — The good Lord Marmion, by my life. 

Welcome to danger's hour ! — 
Short greeting serves in time of strife : — 

Thus iiave 1 ranged my power : 
Myself will rule this central host, 

Stout Stanley fronts their right, 
My sons command the vaward jiost. 

With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ; 

Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, 

Sliall be in rearward of the fight. 
And succor those that need it most. 

Now, gallant Marmion, well I know. 

Would gladly to the vanguard go ; 
Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there, 
With thee their charge will blithely shares- 
There fight thine own retainers too, 
Bencatli De Burg, thy steward true." — 
" Thanks, noble Surrey I " Marmion said. 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. Ill 

Nor further greeting there he paid ; 
But, parting like a thunderbolt, 
First in the vanguard made a halt, 

Where such a shout there rose 
(Jf " Marmion ! Marniion ! " that the cry, 
Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, 

Startled the .Scottish foes. 

XXV. 

Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
With Lady Clare upon the hill ; 
On which — for far the day was spent — 
The western sunbeams now were bent ; 
The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 
Could plain their distant comrades view: 
Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
" Unworthy office here to stay ! 
No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
But see ! look up — on Flodden bent 
The Scottish foe has 11 red his tent." 

And sudden, as he spoke. 
From the sharp ridges of the hill. 
All downward to the banks of Till, 

Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
Volumed and fast, and rolling far. 
The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 

As down the hill they broke ; 
Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, 
Announced their march ; their tread alone, 
At times one warning trumpet blown. 

At times a stifled hum. 
Told England, from his mountain-throne 

King James did rushing come. — 
Scarce could they hear, or see their foes. 

Until at weapon-point they close, — 



272 MARMION. canto vi. 

They close, in cLnids of smoke and dust, 
With sword-sway, and with hmce's thrust ; 

And sucli a yell was there, 
Of sudden and portentous birth, 
As if men fought upon the earth, 

And fiends in upper air; 
Oh, life and death were in the shout, 
Recoil and rally, charge and rout. 

And triumph and despair. 
Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye 
Could in the darkness nought descry. 

XXYI. 

At length the freshening western blast 

Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 

And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 

Above the brightening cloud appears ; 

And in the smoke the pennons fleAv, 

As in the storm the white seamcw. 

Then marked they, dashing broad and far. 

The broken billows of the war, 

And ]jlumdd crests of chieftains brave, 

Floating like foam upon the wave ; 

But nought distinct they see : 
Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain ; 
Fell England's arrow-fiight like rain ; 
Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again, 

Wild and disorderly. 
Amid the scene of tumult, high 
They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly : 
And stainless Tunstall's banner white. 
And Edmund Howard's lion bright, 
Still bear them bravely in the fight ; 

Altliough against them come. 



CAXTO VI. THE BATTLE. 273 

Of gallant Gordons many a one, 
And many a stubborn Badenoch-man, 
And many a rugged Border clan, 
With Huntly, and with Home. 

XXVII, 

Far on the left, unseen the while, 
Stanlej^ broke Lennox and Argyle ; 
Though there the western mountaineer 
Rushed witli bare bosom on the spear. 
And flung the feeble targe aside, 
And with both hands the broadsword plied. 
'T was vain : — But Fortune, on the right, 
With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight. 
Then fell that spotless banner white. 

The Howard's lion fell ; 
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
With wavering flight, Avhile fiercer grew 

Around the battle-yell. 
The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 

Loud were the clanging blows ; 
Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, 

The pennon sunk and rose; 
As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, 

It wavered 'mid the foes. 
No longer Blount the view could bear : 
" By Heaven, and all its saints ! I swear 

I will not see it lost ! 
Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
May bid your beads, and patter prayer, — 

I gallop to the host." 
And to the fray he rode amain, 
Followed by all the archer train. 

18 



274 MARMION. canto vi. 

The fiery youth, with desperate charge, 
Made, for a space, an opening large, — 

The rescued banner rose, — 
But darkly closed the war around, 
Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground. 

It sank among the foes. 
Then Eustace mounted too; — yet stayed. 
As loth to leave the helpless maid. 

When, fast as shaft can fly. 
Bloodshot his eyes, his nostrils spread. 
The loose rein dangling from his head, 
Housing and saddle bloody red. 

Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ; 
And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 

A look and sign to Clara cast, 

To mark he would return in haste. 
Then plunged into the fight. 



Ask me not what the maiden feels. 
Left in that dreadful hour alone : 

Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; 
Perchance a courage, not her own. 
Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 

The scattered van of England wheels ; — 
She only said, as loud in air 
The tumult roared, "Is Wilton there?" — 
They fly, or, maddened by despair, 
Fight but to die, — " Is Wilton there ? " 

With that, straight up the hill there rode 
Two horsemen drenched with gore, 

And in their arms a helpless load, 
A wounded knight they bore. 

His hand still strained the broken bi'and ; 

His arms were smeared with blood and sand. 



CANTO VI. 



THE BATTLE. 



275 



Dragged from among the horses' feet, 
With dmted shield, and helmet beat, 
The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . . 
Young Blount his armor did unlace, 
And gazing on his ghastly face. 
Said, " By Saint George, he 's gone ! 




That spear-wound has our master sped, 
And see the deep cut on his head ! 

Good-night to Marmion." — 
" Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : 
He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace ! ' 



XXIX. 



When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, 
Around 'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 
" Where 's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where ? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 



276 MARMION. 

Redeem my pennon, — cliarge again ! 
Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue ! ' — Vain ! 
Last of my race, on battle-plain 
That shout shall ne'er be heard again I — 
Yet my last thought is England's — fly. 
To Dacre bear my signet-ring: 
Tell hira his squadrons up to bring. — 
Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie; 
Tunstall lies dead upon the field, 
His lifeblood stains the spotless shield : 
Edmund is down : — my life is reft ; 
The Admiral alone is left. 
Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
Full upon Scotland's central host, 
Or victory and England 's lost. — 
Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly ! 
Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
They parted, and alone he lay ; 
Clare drew her from the sight away. 
Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan. 
And half he murmured — " Is there none. 

Of all my halls have nurst. 
Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
Of blessed water from the spring, 
To slake my dying thirst!" 

XXX. 

Woman ! in our hours of ease, 

Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 

And variable as the shade 

By the light quivering aspen made ; 

When pain and anguish wring the brow, 

A ministering angel thou ! — 

Scarce were the piteous accents said, 



CAXTO VI. 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 211 

When, with the Baron's casque, the maid 

To the nigh streamlet ran : 
Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; 
The plaintive voice alone she hears. 

Sees but the dying man. 
She stooped her by the runnel's side, 

But in abhorrence backward drew ; 
For, oozing from the mountain's side. 
Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 

Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
Where shall she turn! — behold her mark 

A little fountain cell, 
Where water, clear as diamond-spark. 

In a stone basin fell. 
Above, some half-worn letters say, 
©rink, ircaro. pilgrim. Urt'nk. anti. prag. 
JFor. tIjE. kt'nli. soul. of. Sybil, ©rcg. 

HEl)a. iuilt. tljis. cross. m\t\. iazW. 
She filled the helm, and back she hied. 
And with surprise and joy espied 

A Monk supporting Marmion's head ; 
A pious man, whom duty brought 
To dubious verge of battle fought. 

To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 

XXXI. 

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. 
And, as she stooped his brow to lave — 
" Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
" Or injured Constance, bathes my head ? " 

Then, as remembrance rose, — 
" Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 

I must redress her woes. 
Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 
Forgive and listen, gentle Clare!" — 



278 MARMION. canto vi. 

"Alas!" she said, "the while, — 
Oh, think of your immortal weal ! 
In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 

She — died at Holy Isle." — 
Lord Marmion started from the ground. 
As light as if he felt no wound ; 
Though in the action burst the tide. 
In torrents, from his wounded side. 
"Then it was truth," he said — "I knew 
That the dark presage must be true. — 
I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 
The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 

Would spare me but a day ! 
For wasting fire, and dying groan. 
And priests slain on the altar stone. 

Might bribe him for delay. 
It may not be! — this dizzy trance — 
Curse on yon base marauder's lance. 
And doubly cursed my failing brand! 
A sinful heart makes feeble hand." 
Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, 
Supported by the trembling Monk. 

XXXII. 

With fruitless labor, Clara bound. 

And strove to stanch the gushing wound: 

The Monk, with unavailing cares. 

Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 

Ever, he said, that, close and near, 

A lady's voice was in his ear. 

And that the priest he could not hear ; 

For that she ever sung, 
" In the lost battle^ home doum by the flying, 
Where mingles war\s rattle ivith groans of the dying!'''' 
So the notes rung ; — 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 281 

''Avoid thee, Fiend! — with cruel hand, 
Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
Oh, look, my son, upon yon sign 
Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 

Oh, tliink on faith and bliss! — 
By many a death-bed I have been, 
And many a sinner's parting seen. 

But never aught like this." — 
The war, that for a space did fail, 
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale, 

And — Stanley ! was the cry ; — 
A light on Marmion's visage spread, 

x4.nd fired his glazing eye : 
With dying hand, above his head. 
He shook the fragment of his blade. 

And shouted " Victory ! " — 
"Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" 
Were the last words of Marmion. 

XXXIII. 

By this, though deep the evening fell, 
Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
For still the Scots, around their King, 
Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
Where's now their victor vaward wing. 

Where Huntly, and where Home ? — 
Oh, for a blast of that dread horn. 
On Fontarabian echoes borne, 

That to King Charles did come. 
When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
And every paladin and peer. 

On Roncesvalles died ! 
Such blasts might warn them, not in vain. 
To quit the plunder of the slain. 
And turn the doubtful day again, 



282 MARMION. canto vi. 

While yet on Flodden side, 
Afar, the Royal Standard, flies. 
And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, 

Our Caledonian pride ! 
In vain the wish — for far away, 
While spoil and havoc mark their way, 
Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
"0 Lady," cried the Monk, "away!" 

And placed her on her steed. 
And led her to the chapel fair. 

Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
There all the night they spent in prayer, 
And at the dawn of morning, there 
She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. 

XXXIV. 

But as they left the dark'ning heath. 
More desperate grew the strife of death. 
The Engiisli shafts in volleys hailed, 
In headlong charge their horse assailed ; 
Front, flank, and rear, the scpiadrons sweep 
To break the Scottish circle dee}). 

That fought around their King. 
But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, 
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go. 
Though billmen ply the ghastly bhnv. 

Unbroken was the ring ; 
The stubborn spearmen still made good 
Their dark impenetrable wood. 
Each stepjnng Avhere his comrade stood, 

Tlie instant that he fell. 
No thought was there of dastard flight; 
Linked in the serried phalanx tight. 
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight. 

As fearlessly and well ; 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 28^ 

Till utter darkness closed her wing 
O'er their thin host and wounded King. 
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
Led back from strife his shattered bands ; 

And from the charge they drew, 
As mountain-waves, from Avasted lands. 

Sweep back to ocean blue. 
Then did their loss his foemen know ; 
Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low, 
They melted from the field, as snow. 
When streams are swoln and south winds blow. 

Dissolves in silent dew. 
Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash. 

While many a broken band, 
Disordered, through her currents dash. 

To gain the Scottish land ; 
To town and tower, to down and dale. 
To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
And raise the universal wail. 
Tradition, legend, tune, and song. 
Shall many an age that wail prolong: 
Still from the sire the son shall hear 
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear, 

Of Flodden's fatal field. 
Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear, 

And broken was her shield ! 

XXXV. 

Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — 
There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride, 
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one : 
Tlie sad survivors all are gone. — 
View not that corpse mistrustfully. 
Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
Nor to yon Border castle high, 



284 M ARM ION. canto vi. 

Look northwai'd with upbraiding eye ; 

Nor cherish hope in vain, 
That, journeying far on foreign strand, 
The Royal Pilgrim to his hind 

May yet return again. 
He saw the wreck liis rashness wrought ; 
Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 

And fell on Flodden plain : 
And well in death his trusty brand. 
Firm clenched within his manly hand. 

Beseemed the monarch slain. 
But oh ! how changed since yon blithe night ! — 
Gladly I turn me from the sight, 

Unto my talc again. 

XXXVI. 

Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care 

A pierced and mangled l)ody bare 

To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 

And there, beneath the southern aisle, 

A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair. 

Did long Lord Marmion's image bear, — 

Now vainly for its site you look ; 

'T was levelled when fanatic Brook 

The fair cathedral stormed and took ; 

But, thanks to Heaven, and good Saint (Uiad, 

A guerdon meet the spoiler liad ! — 

There erst was martial Marmion found. 

His feet upon a couchant hound. 

His hands to Heaven upraised; 
And all around, on scutcheon rich, 
And tablet carved, and fretted niche, 

His arms and feats were blazed. 
And yet, though all was carved so fail'. 
And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer. 



CANTO VI. 



THE BATTLE. 



285 







The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain 
Followed his lord to Floddcn plain, — 
One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 
In Scotland mourns as " wede avray : " 
Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied, 
And dragged him to its foot, and died, 
Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain, 
And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb, 
The lowly w^oodsman took the room. 



286 MARMION. 



XXXVII. 

Less easy task it were, to show 

Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low. 

They dug his grave e'en where he lay, 

But every mark is gone ; 
Time's wasting hand has done away 
The simple Cross of Syhil Grey, 

And broke her font of stone: 
But yet from out the little hill 
Oozes the slender springlet still. 

Oft halts the stranger there, 
For thence may best liis curious eye 
The memorable field descry ; 

And shepherd boys repair 
To seek the water-flag and rush, 
And rest them by the hazel bush, 

And plait their garlands fair ; 
Nor dream they sit upon the grave, 
That holds the bones of Marmion brave. - 
When thou shalt find the little hill. 
With thy heart commune, and be still. 
If ever, in temptation strong, 
Thou left'st the right path for the wrong 
If every devious step, thus trod. 
Still led thee further from the road ; 
Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom 
On noble Marmion's lowly tomi); 
But say, "He died a gallant knight, 
With sword in hand, for England's right.' 

XXXVIII. 

I do not rhyme to that dull elf. 

Who cannot image to himself. 

That all through Flodden's dismal night, 



CANTO VI. 



CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 287 

Wilton was foremost in the fight; 

That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 

'T was Wilton mounted him again ; 

'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hewed. 

Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 

Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall, 

He was the living soul of all ; 

That, after fight, his faith made plain. 

He won his rank and lands again; 

And charged his old paternal shield 

With bearings won on Flodden Field. 

Nor sing I to that simple maid. 

To whom it must in terms be said, 

That King and kinsmen did agree, 

To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 

Who cannot, unless 1 relate, 

Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; 

That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke. 

More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke ; 

That bluff King Hal the curtain drew. 

And Catherine's hand the stocking threw; 

And afterwards, for many a day. 

That it was held enough to say, 

In blessing to a wedded pair, 

" Love they like Wilton and like Clare ! " 





Why then a final note prolong, 

Or lengthen out a closing song, 

Unless to bid the gentles speed, 

Who long have listed to my rede ? 

To Statesmen grave, if such may deign 

To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 

Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit. 

And patriotic heart — as«PiTT ! 

A garland for the hero's crest, 

And twined liy her he loves the best ; 

To every lovely lady bright, 

What can I wish but faithful knight I 

To ever^"^ faithful lover too, 

What can I wish but lady true ? 

And knowledge to the studious sage ; 

And pillow soft to tlie head of age. 

To thee, dear school-bo}-, whom my lay 

Has cheated of thy hour of play, 

flight task, and merry holiday ! 

To all, to each, a fair good-night. 

And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light ! 



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